


I'll Be Your Hero, As Long As You're Mine

by scoutshonour



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison Argent, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Bisexuality, Character Death, Codependency, Daddy Issues, Dead Isaac, Depression, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Funerals, Grief/Mourning, Isaac Dies Instead of Allison, Jealousy, Lack of Communication, Mostly Everyone Is Alive, Non-Canonical Character Death, Overprotective Malia, PTSD, Possessive Behavior, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, anchor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5325563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison Argent nearly died and sometimes, she wish she had, especially after she loses her boyfriend, Isaac Lahey. Malia Tate knows what it's like to feel that way, especially when the guilt is too much. Somehow, two people with death and psychotic family members find each other in the midst of grief and darkness and sadness and create a strong bond that is impossible to break. It seems as if the world is betting on that. They'll fight for each other, though, because that's what people in love do, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Allison remembers darkness, pitch black and nothing else. No sounds, no voices - nothing but a void. So when her eyes slowly begin to open, she’s convinced this is what death feels like and she's dead. Her vision is blurry, foggy but she can make out three figures standing in front her. She grips what’s covering her body and feels a thin blanket - what the hell is going on? She tries standing but her body aches and there’s a sharp pain searing in her stomach when she does. She groans. She can hear cries, gasps and screams and she’s frustrated that she can’t see anything, but after she blinks a few times, her vision clears up.

_You’re not dead._

_She’s awake!_

_ALLISON!_

She feels dizzy and grips onto the edge of her hospital bed. She breathes - in and out, in and out until she feels calm. “Holy shit, I’m alive -”

She can hear three different, familiar laughs and sees her father standing up in the corner of the cramped room, Scott sitting, fidgeting with his hands and Lydia standing right by her side, like a best friend would.

“You scared me,” a figure - Lydia - says, concern mixed with relief filling her voice. She’s tearing up, until tears are rolling freely down her cheek. “You scared everyone, you know that, Allison?”

She can only crack a weak smile. “Sorry. I’ll try not to let that happen again,” she says.

“Stop being such a smart ass,” Chris mumbles, grinning at his daughter. “Two days you were gone. Longest I’ve ever been apart from you. I am so glad you’re okay, Ally,” he says softly, and he steps forward, pressing his lips against her forehead. He’s fighting off tears, and he’s failing, but no one seems to mind or care.

“Wait - what happened? Where’s Stiles? Is he okay? The Nogitsune? Did anyone die?” And she’s mad at herself for only remembering about Stiles, for being so selfish and her heartbeat is wildly beating and she can hear her heart monitor’s beeping increase dramatically. “Is Stiles …” She mouths the word “dead”, because she can’t get the word out for the possibility scares her too much.

“No,” Scott says quietly, and Allison notices it’s the first time he’s spoken. She wants to reach out and touch him, vividly remembering her slipping into a coma in his arms, but he’s too far. Instead, she reaches out for him and he jumps up to her side, taking her hand into his.

“He’s fine,” Scott assures. “We beat the Nogitsune. Stiles is resting, but I texted him and he’s on his way. I promise.” He punctuates his words with a gentle squeeze to her hand and she smiles.

“And good morning to you, Miss Argent!” A cheery and bright nurse says, beaming. She pushes her blonde hair behind her shoulder and enters the room. “I’d like to ask Miss Argent a few questions, so if you could please leave the room so I may begin -”

“No,” Lydia cuts in.

“No?” The nurse looks taken aback. “I understand you don’t want to leave her, but it’s hospital policy and -”

“Really, it’s fine. You should go home anyway. Get some rest and let me get mine. Be nostalgic and tear up tomorrow, please. You all look exhausted and terrible anyway. I mean, not as terrible as me, but you can’t blame me for that. Shoo!” Allison insists, and reluctantly, they leave. Not without kissing the tip of her head and hugging her goodbye of course.

The nurse asks her questions and Allison gives the typical and standard answer with a blank face.

She’s been conscious for a solid twenty minutes, and the empty feeling in her stomach has yet to subside. She’s unsure if this is just hunger, but she feels … different. Like a different person, a different Allison Argent than she was before this. All she felt for the past two days was nothing. Darkness and a black void. That’s all she remembers and it terrifies her. She  _died._ Shouldn’t she be dead now? 

The nurse - Brittany, Allison remembers her saying - fluffs her pillow and arches a brow. “You okay?”

Allison forces herself to nod and smile, jumping back to reality as she shifts in her spot with what limited space she has. “As much as I can be. I’m doing alright, though, a little shaken up.”

“It’s normal, don’t worry,” Brittany says casually. “You were medically dead for ten minutes. You should be thankful for your life, you know. But I do get if you’re shaken up. Traumatized. This’ll be hard to get over and we’ll actually give you a list of therapists for you to see once you leave. Don’t worry about that now, though. Try to recover. Speaking of which - you were stabbed. It was an attempted murder. There’s an ongoing investigation and they’ll need to ask you some questions. But your rest comes first. Would you like them to come tomorrow or on Thursday? Or even further, if you think that’s what you need,” she adds.

Her face pales at the new information given, but she’s mostly concerned with the police issue. She needs to know what Scott and her friends said to the police, first. So she just forces a sigh out and shakes her head. “I’m not - I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Is Friday, alright, Brittany?” She gives a weak smile.

Brittany smiles back, scribbling something onto a notepad. “Friday’s perfect. Have a good night, Miss Argent. It’s been quite the eventful week and you need some rest.”

God, did she know the half of it.

Stiles arrives hand-in-hand with a tall, short-haired brunette girl with two Starbucks drinks an hour later than he was originally supposed to.

“Excuse me,” she croaks weakly - her throat was a bit sore. “Why are you so late? Your friend nearly dies and you show up an hour later than you were supposed to? I’m hurt, Stilinski. Your hair looks terrible, by the way,” she adds in a teasing voice, ignoring the presence of the other girl who looked somewhat familiar to her. She was too distracted by seeing Stiles.

“And you look like shit, Argent,” he said, laughing before rushing to her side. He gives her a hug, burying his head into the crook of her neck. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you’re okay too,” she whispers into his ear. They cling onto each other, before the brunette interrupts.

“Thanks for introducing me,” the girl says blankly before seating herself into one of the seats by the window, sipping her drink.

Stiles looks exasperated. “Malia - Allison, my friend that nearly died and helped save you. Allison - this is Malia, my girl - my girl friend. My friend that’s a girl,” he stutters, looking nervous and sheepish. “You remember the were-coyote we saved this year? This is her.”

“I didn’t want to be saved,” Malia says under her breath, before pulling a phone out of her pocket and playing a game. She blows a strand of hair out of her face and puts all her focus into it.

Allison bites back a nasty comment. Seriously, who did this girl think she was? But she just ignores her, refusing to let one annoying, careless person like Malia ruin her day. “Did I miss much?” She asks.

Stiles shakes his head, pulling a chair up next to her bed. “Nah, we only defeated the Nogitsune with our star member missing,” he says, patting her arm gently. “You missed a lot actually. Good thing you made it just in time for school tomorrow!” He says sarcastically, lifting his hands up into the air.

Allison groans. “Well, I still have to stay here in the hospital for another week. And if any teachers expect me to finish it …. then they’ve lost it.” She laughs almost bitterly, leaning back in her spot.

“How’s Isaac doing? Does he … not want to see me?”

Stiles face darkens at the sudden mention of Isaac, his smile slipping off his face. “Oh, Allison - “ There's pity and sadness in his voice.

“Did no one tell you?” Malia asks, interrupting Stiles. Her face is blank, voice devoid of emotion. “I guess that makes sense, but I thought they’d have told her by now. Like ripping a band aid off, right?”

Allison pales. “Tell me  _what?_ Tell me what Stiles?”

And Stiles grips Allison’s hand, looking straight into her eye with concern sparkling in his eyes. “Isaac … Isaac died. After the Oni stabbed you, they stabbed him. Repeatedly. They killed him. He didn’t heal fast enough, I guess. The impact was too strong and his body couldn’t handle it. The funeral’s next week. It’s been a hell of a week, Allison. We thought we'd have to plan another funeral for you, but thankfully, that won't be happening."

Her world crumbles around her. She could feel her heart twist and turn and yet, she remained tear-less. Her grief was beyond tears. It was like she'd been balancing the weight of the worlds on her shoulders, but her shoulders finally gave in. “He’s really … he’s really gone?” She asks the question anyway, even though she already has the answer. 

“Yep,” Malia says, the annoying background music of  _Angry Birds_ from her phone loud and suddenly irritating Allison.

“Could you turn that thing OFF?” She snaps. She doesn’t care how rude she sounds. She doesn’t care if there was a nicer way to ask. She’s pissed. Beyond pissed. She’s angry.  She’s upset. She’s in mourning. She’s grieving. She’s in pain - both physically and mentally. She doesn't know what to do. Too much is happening, too much for her to give a damn about Malia's stupid game of Angry Birds.

Malia looks hurt, but lowers her phone’s volume instantly. “Jeez,” she mutters. “Calm down.”

“ _Malia_ ,” Stiles says, looking shocked and bewildered by her insensitivity. He opens his mouth to scold him, but Allison would much rather do it for him.

“It’s fine, Stiles. Really.” A brief pause. “Some people are born like that - heartless,” she says coldly, her lips twitching and words coming out chocked and shaky. 

“I’m going to the cafeteria,” Malia says in a monotonous voice. “I’ll be back.”

Once she’s gone, Stiles sighs. “I’m sorry for her. She just - she’s just new at this. Don’t take it personally, yeah? We’re working on it. It’s a work in progress,” he adds hoarsely. 

“It’s - it’s fine. I snapped at her. I guess I’m just having a hard time dealing with this.” Her voice cracks and she sniffles, feeling incredibly overwhelmed. She isn't sorry about what she said, though. Being a coyote for eight years isn't an excuse to be an asshole, but that's not what Allison cares about most right now.  _Isaac._

Her heart's yearning. She has no closure - her last memory of him was seeing him  _stabbed_ by Oni's. Now, her life feels pointless.  _It should've been me ... It should've been me ..._

“No one’s expecting you to handle and accept everything all at once. Take things step by step.  _You’ve_ been through the most. You nearly died Allison and you just lost someone you loved. Grieving and mourning? Those are things you're allowed to do. Hell, those are things you have to do,” he reminds in a soft, cool voice, flashing her a small smile. "It's all you can do."

 _Grieve and mourn, Allison, grieve and mourn._ ”Talk to me like everything’s okay, please?” She requests in a strained voice, holding back the tears stinging in her eyes.

Stiles placidly smiles. “Of course.”

* * *

 

Allison’s eyes flutter open and she glances at the clock in the corner of the room. 3:45 am.  _Wonderful._ She remembers falling asleep while talking to Stiles, Malia playing a number of stupid games on that damn phone. She looks at Stiles, asleep on the couch in the most awkward position possible and somehow that isn’t enough to make her laugh. She lets out a sigh. Nothing would be the same, would it?

“Something wrong?”

Allison nearly jumps at the voice she hears, but she recognizes Malia’s voice and at least has the reassurance that it  _isn’t_ some psychotic, supernatural killer that broke into her room. She sits upfront in her spot, trying to regain her breathing. “Did you just wake up?”  _Fuck_ formality. Formality flew out the door the moment Malia told her to calm down after she found out her boyfriend  _died._

“I haven’t slept at all, so ...” Her voice trails off and she shrugs in her seat. “I don’t know how he falls asleep so easily. I feel bad for him and I wish I was him,” she says, and now she’s sighing as sadly as Allison was.

Allison lets out a laugh.

Malia shoots her a confused look. 

She figures it’s a  _being a coyote for eight years_ thing. “You don’t have to stay here, really." _Because you're insensitive. The only person's feelings you care about are your own. "_ You don’t know me that well and just because you’re friends with my friends doesn’t mean you have to stay overnight here. Not that I don’t  _want_ you here or consider you a friend, it’s just that - “

Now Malia laughs. “You’re cute. It’s not an issue, really. I like being surrounded by other people - being by myself isn’t fun, I guess. Even if they’re sleeping. And it’s not like I could sleep in my own bed. Sleep and I haven’t been getting along lately,” Malia mumbles through gritted teeth, sounding annoyed and defeated at the same time.

“Aren’t you tired?” Allison asks in a gentle voice. Alright, maybe her first impression of Malia  _had_ been a little wrong.

“Exhausted. But what can you do, right?” Another casual shrug.

Allison wishes she could treat her issues the way Malia did and frankly, wishes she could let it go, but she couldn’t. “Doesn’t it frustrate you? Don’t you wish you were a normal person, who didn’t have PTSD or anxiety or a person that could actually  _sleep?_ I’m sorry, it’s just that I could never think like that. I get so upset and sad, knowing I’ll never life a normal life and never be one hundred percent happy and never be able to back to when life was .. simple. When I dream - the rare time it  _isn't_ a nightmare,`she adds,`It`s about ... living. Without fear. Without sadness. Without all this supernatural shit that led to me being here in the first place!" She rubs her temples, feeling stressed.

Malia looks perplexed for a second. "Maybe that's okay. The pain, the death - it makes us stronger, doesn't it? And all the sadness, misery ... that makes us human. Trust me, feeling human is something I need every now and then. Without that, happiness and smiling? That's useless. You need the bad for the good, right? It's not like all this suffering will lead to nothing. Something good  _has_ to have come out of this. I mean, without the supernatural, I wouldn't have met Stiles. If I hadn't - If I hadn't ..." She pauses, hesitating. "If that  _accident_ hadn't happened, I wouldn't have known Stiles. Or you. You wouldn't have known ... have known Isaac, right? Without the supernatural? At least you got to know him. Love him like he deserved. Point is: something good will come out of this. Something good  _has_ come out of this. Just hold on to that thought." _  
_

Allison is breathless. She never saw it like that.  _At least you got to know him._ And the tears come rushing down her face before she can stop it, emotions overflowing within her. Her heart can't take it and she feels like she's drowning. "I'm sorry, I'm  _so_ sorry, I didn't meant to start - to start - I just miss him  _so fucking **much**_ -"

Malia doesn't say anything. She just gets out of her seat, marches over to Allison's bed, yawns and slides into the bed with her. She wraps an arm around Allison's shoulder.

It's comforting. It's odd, since Allison's only known the girl for a few hours, but it's what she needs. She sobs into the other girl's shoulders until she falls asleep, tears staining Malia's shirt.

And it seems that this is the first time in a while that Malia has fallen asleep, too.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Malia’s eyes open and her head is resting on the crook of Allison’s shoulders. She doesn’t let go for two reasons. One being she’s in a pretty damn comfortable spot and Allison provides warmth that Malia’s yet to feel in her months of returning to human status and two being that Allison looks like she’s comfortably sleeping. Malia doesn’t want to wake her up, especially after the bad night she'd had.

She looks at the clock, checking the time. 8:50 am, it reads. She managed to get about five hours of sleep - at least she got _some_ sleep. This was better than her typical two hours every three days. She silently thanks Allison.

She looks at Stiles, who was currently cuddling with a pillow and she smiles. He should’ve asked her if he had wanted to cuddle last night.

She truly did not want to leave Allison but the taste in her mouth from not brushing her teeth was too much and she couldn’t handle it, so she oh so subtly pulls her arm away for underneath the other girl’s.

Allison just groans in her sleep and stirs in her spot.

Malia is able to leave the room without disturbing anyone. She lets out a sigh of relief, grabs her phone and pulls her toothbrush from her bag. She goes to the (extremely gross) public washroom and brushes her teeth. A middle-aged woman going into the stall gives her a weird look, but Malia continues to brush anyway, not giving a damn what anyone thinks. 

So that was the infamous Allison Argent. Malia was unsure what to think. Allison seems like an alright person. A person who snaps at people, but an alright person for the most part. Malia had shared a special and deep moment with her last night. She wonders if the brunette would bring it up again or she'd ignore it and ignore Malia. She hoped that wouldn't be the case. Malia also hoped she wouldn’t continue to treat Malia like a five year old girl.

Malia was getting tired of people treating her like that. Like she was some little girl incapable of taking care of herself. If she survived eight years in the wild, couldn't she do fine in the human world? She wonders why people didn't seem to understand that. Sure, she was socially unaware of things, but that didn't make her an idiot.

After rinsing her mouth, she heads back to the room and finds a sleepy, groggy but awake Allison.

“Rise and shine, babe!" Malia says, smiling.

Allison lifts a brow at that comment.

“I thought that was something cute people call each other,” Malia says, frowning.

“Yeah, people that’re dating.” Allison says with a scoff, but she smile back anyway. Her eyes flash a look of amusement and she seems to be enjoying herself.

“Stiles calls me that," Malia informs blankly.

Stiles suddenly awakens, the pillow in his clutch falling to the floor. "Stiles what?" He slurs, voice sounding muffled and groggy.

"Never mind," Allison says, with a playful grin spreading across her mouth. "You two have school, don't you?"

"Aren't I allowed to take a day off? My family member's in the hospital," Stiles mumbles, half awake and half asleep. 

Allison looks touched and appreciative.

Malia feels intrusive. Like she's barged in on a moment between too loved ones. She's the odd one out - the only meaningful relationship she has in the pack is with Stiles. Everyone else are like strangers. She's getting to know them, sure, but their bond is inseparable. Nothing she could do would equate to that. She could never be as important to Lydia, Kira, Scott, and Allison like Stiles was and it bothers her. But she just smiles and goes along with it, because she shouldn't be complaining. She was lucky enough to have friends after the terrible things she'd done.

_Don't think about it._

**_Stop_ ** _thinking about it._

But that only made her think about it some more.

Allison and Stiles are talking back and forth, Stiles plopping a minty fresh gum into his mouth. Malia just sits next to him and grabs his hand and squeezes.

He squeezes back in a reassuring way, seeming to understand right away what the issue is. He gets it - he gets the panic, the anxiety, the way her heart will suddenly start beating fast and the rush of fear she gets. He gets it.

The human contact is enough to calm her down, but she doesn't let go. She likes holding his hand, and she's leaning into him now from her seat, propping her head against his shoulder. "Thank you," she mumbles into his ear. Her voice is low so Allison can't hear.

"Anytime," he replies, and he leans back into her.

"Now you  _can't_ tell me you two aren't dating!" Allison says suddenly, sounding slightly exasperated.

Stiles cheeks flush a deep crimson, and he opens his  mouth several times to say something, but nothing comes out. _  
_

"We're  _hanging out._ That's what Stiles says, at least," Malia says for Stiles.

Allison and Stiles share a series of looks that Malia can't decipher the meaning, and that frustrates her. They seem to have a silent conversation, before Allison breaks the silence.

"Do you know if Lydia and Scott went to school today?"

And now, Allison and Stiles talk back and forth, like the previous conversation didn't happen. They laugh and smile, like friends do, and Malia sits there, the odd one out. Her head is still comfortably placed on the crook of his neck. She's playing with Stiles hands, tracing her name with her index finger over and over again, wondering if he'll notice.

He doesn't.

Their conversation is a blur of words and laughs, so Malia barely notices when Stiles says, "I think we should be heading off now." She's aware they're leaving when he gets up and she nearly falls over from the sudden movement.

"Before you go, Stiles, just remind me - when's the funeral again?" Allison's voice is grave and quiet.

"Next Sunday at 11:30. The memorial service is at 5," Malia answers automatically, pulling her coat on. She's going, even if she didn't know Isaac that well. She's going as moral support - for Stiles, Lydia, and Scott. They need her right now and she wants to be there for them. She wants to honor Isaac, even if she never knew him. 

Allison looks surprised momentarily, but the look fades and she offers Malia a soft smile. "Thank you, Malia."

Malia just presses her lips together, nodding. They say goodbye, and head for the hospital parking lot, hand-in-hand and walking in silence.

She's never been to a funeral before. She can only imagine of going to someone you love's funeral, how much it hurts. She's lost people, but she's never had the pain of going to someone's funeral. She wonders what her sister and mother's funeral was like. She wonders if  _she_ was ever mentioned - at that point, she could only assume there was still hope of finding Malia Tate, the girl lost in the car wreckage.

She wonders how her father would've felt. If he was clinging onto the hope of finding his lost daughter, because she was all he had. And how for eight years, that hope was lost and how he had lost everything he ever loved. And how Malia was the reason for it.

They're in the car parking lot and Malia can feel her eyes watering.

"Malia?" Stiles asks, as he fumbles for his keys in his pockets. He opens the car door, but leaves it open, a hand going to tug Malia closer. "Are you okay?" Concern seems to flood his face, his brows furrowing.

"No," she manages to say. She tries to blink the tears away, but they come down her cheek anyway and she starts to cry. She's quietly sobbing and her hands are in her face, because she doesn't want him to see her cry. " _Dammit_ \- I didn't mean to start, I just started thinking about funerals, and - "

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Stiles starts, and he ushers her into his car for a more private place. He slides into the drivers seat and he gently pulls her hands away from her face. "Do you want to just cry for a bit?" 

She likes that he doesn't try to talk her through it. That he understands that nothing he can say can change how she feels, what happened. That crying might be the perfect solution for the guilt. She continues to sob and she rests her head in his lap.

He plays with her hair, continuously wiping the tears away from her face.

They sit there like that, the only noise in the air being her tears, until she starts spewing barely coherent words.

"I don't - I don't remember their voices any - anymore, Stiles. I  _killed_ them and I don't even remember their voices and I killed them! What murderer  _does_  that?"

He nods with every sentence, not saying anything and somehow, it's the perfect thing for him to do. 

It takes her ten minutes to stop crying and she wipes her cheeks, shifting back into the front seat. "Thank you," she says quietly, voice soft and inaudible.

He starts the car and drives out of the parking lot, leaving Malia wondering if he didn't hear her or did hear her, and chose to ignore it.

* * *

 

She didn't like going to her house that much. The guilt at times was too overwhelming, but in spite of everything, Malia forces herself to greet her father and go back into a place that continues to haunt her. She hasn't seen him in two days - she had texted him, saying she'd spend the night at Stiles. Malia knows that her father didn't like it, but he understands. All she's asking for is him understanding.

She doesn't have to turn her head to know that Stiles is still there, anxiously tapping his leg inside his old jeep. She breathes in, and raps on the door. It takes a while for Henry to come in and when he opens the door, he looks immensely relieved.

"You're home," he mumbles, gesturing for her to come in.

She glances over her shoulder, fingers forming an awkward wave to Stiles, signalling that he can go now. "Yup," she murmurs. She slides past him and into the small home, dropping her bag to the floor. 

"How was the visit?"

She stifles a groan. She doesn't want to make small talk right now, but her father sounds interested and he genuinely cares, so she acts like she cares for his benefit. And so that she seems like a loving daughter. "The visit was fine. Allison - the girl - is doing okay. A little shaken up, but can you blame her?"

Slipping into the living room, she sprawls across the living room couch with a small sigh. Her legs dangle over the edge, and she feels exhausted.

"It's crazy, isn't it? Poor girl. Getting stabbed in a mugging and having her friend die in front of her like that," he sighs, shaking his head. He seats himself on the chair next to Malia, in front of the television. "Can't imagine what her father's going through."

"Hey, I mean it's not like his daughter went missing for eight years, right?" She jokes with a weak smile, trying not to cringe at the fake story that just flew out of her dad's mouth. She wishes Scott, Stiles and Lydia had come up with a better cover up story. A mugging?  _Really?_ But it worked; the police believed them. Malia didn't think they'd be stupid enough to believe that but  _whatever._

Henry bashfully laughs and stands up to press his lips against Malia's forehead, his thumb lovingly caressing her cheek. "He still went through hell, Malia," she says in the least-scolding voice he could muster. "Not the same hell as me, but still."

She laughs at his attempt at a joke, feeling warm from her father's gentle touch. The feeling doesn't stay for long. It never does. He returns to his chair and pores over the newspaper, a cup of coffee in his one hand. They sit there in silence like that for a few minutes and it's a moderately comfortable situation. 

Malia rolls over, stands up, trudges toward her father and from behind, wraps her arms around him, burying her face into his neck.  

He doesn't say anything, resting his palm on top of her hands and squeezing.

"I'm sorry," she blurts out. Her voice is choked and she does her best to limit any emotion in it and for the most part, it's working. 

"What for?" He asks. He seems to be more skilled at the art of hiding emotions than Malia. 

"For those years of making you wonder. For making you lose  _everything._ I'm so, so, so, sorry."

"Oh, Malia." He shifts in his spot, turning his back away from hers and looks her straight in the eye. "Stop being ridiculous. It wasn't your fault. You're here now, you're safe, and that's all that matters. I have you and that's all that matters."

From time to time, she considers telling him the truth about that night. She wonders constantly what he'd do if he knew. If he'd still love her or if he'd kick her out, refusing to spend another second with the person who ruined his life. But that feeling only lasts a few seconds and she remembers it's probably better if he doesn't know. If he believed a simple lie that a feral, lack-of-moral coyote took his daughter and wife away from him and not his daughter.

 _It's not that easy,_ she wants to say.  _It's not that simple. I killed them. I killed your family. I killed our family. I'm sorry. I want to talk about it with you, I want to tell you how I'm not okay, I want to tell you how I haven't been okay for years._

"I love you, Dad," she says instead.

He laughs a bit at that. "I know."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was Chapter 2. If you didn't notice, I'll be switching from Malia and Allison's perspective. I hope that won't be too confusing! And I hope that y'all liked this chapter as much as I liked writing it. Even if it hurt my Malia-loving heart. Feel free to comment and tell me what you think of the story so far. This'll definitely be a slow-burn kinda thing. Allison and Malia's relationship will take time to develop, but it'll be worth it, I promise!!! :)


	3. Chapter 3

For the past two days, Allison's schedule has looked like this: sleep, eat shitty hospital food, a group of people visit, then repeat. It's a pretty standard thing. On occasion, the kind doctors will run tests on her and they'll say vague things along the lines of, "Things are progressing well." Allison takes them well. 

It's been five days since she's waken up from her coma and Lydia pops into her room at four pm, with a large, folded piece of paper tucked under her underarms. She wears a bright, yet weary smile. 

She's a bit groggy when her gaze focuses. "Lydia?"

"I have something for you, Allison," she says excitedly (the most excited Allison's seen in awhile), and holds the paper out in front of her.

In big, red, bold letters reads:  _Get Well Soon, Ally A!_

Lydia sprawls the card on Allison's lap and opens it up, revealing dozens of signatures from classmates and teachers and, most importantly, her friends. She grins, taking the time to read each personalized message as Lydia plops onto one of the hospital seats.

Lydia lets Allison read them for a bit, taking the time to scroll down her Instagram feed. Her eyebrows shoot up when she hears a random laugh burst from Allison's mouth. "Everything okay, there?" She asks, narrowing her brows.

"Yeah, yeah," Allison insists, the corners of her mouth curled into a small smile. "It's just - Malia's message. _Hurry up and get better, Alison!"_ _  
_

"What's so funny?" Lydia asks, scrunching her brows. She looks confused, to say the least, and it's enough to get her to look away from her phone.

"She spelled my name wrong. And drew a picture of, what I think was me, with a badly drawn bow and arrow. Standing next to her with either claws or really long nails." The brunette isn't sure why this is so funny to her, but it's enough to make her cheeks burn with humor and make Lydia give her a look that seems to question Allison's sanity. 

"I swear, Malia has the maturity of a three year old," Lydia sighs. Her lips form a small 'o' and she looks disgruntled.

"What's your deal with Malia? She's like, a cinnamon roll," she questions, arching her back to read a small, neatly scrawled message from Alana, a black-haired girl that sat behind her in Calculus. She bends her back to grab the card and fold the card back in half. "Thank you for the card, by the way."

Lydia simply scoffs, running a hand through her sleek hair. "You're welcome. And - it's not like I hate her. She's just the kind of person that takes getting used to, that all. What's  _your_ deal with her, anyway? You seem to be the Malia Tate fan club president," she teases.

"Forgive me if I'm not as bitter to everyone as you are, Lydia," Allison retorts with a slight scoff. "When she and Stiles stayed over, she kinda helped me through some stuff," she admits, scratching her neck as the memory flows back to her, vivid as ever. "It was nice. It was shortly after I found out about Isaac, and she helped me get through some tears." It's difficult to get his name out without a stream of tears, and somehow, she manages to despite this. A faint smile spreads across her lips and she's thankful for that encounter. "Plus, she's a sweet person, don't you think?"

Lydia's face seems to have paled at the mention of Isaac, a weary smile stretching atop her lips as well. She shakes her head with a small sigh. "You  _are_ right. She is pretty cute. She's like an overgrown toddler."

Allison resists the urge to roll her eyes. "What's the deal with her and Stiles, anyway? Are they a thing, or ...?" Curiosity has gotten the better of her, brows scrunching as the question leaves her mouth.

Lydia looks breathless for a moment, the question seeming to phase her. "I honestly don't know," she says finally. "I think there's something. Nothing classified yet. I guess it started when Stiles was in Eichen. But for all we know, they could just be fooling around. It doesn't matter, though - she makes him happy. Right now, he could use some happiness and that' all that matters. That and your recovery," she slyly adds, standing up from her seat and trudging toward Allison. She intertwines their fingers, rubbing her thumb over Allison's knuckles.

"We  _all_ could use a little happiness," is all she says. 

Lydia does a majority of the talking for the remainder of her visit. Allison doesn't mind, really. Lydia distracts her in the best way possible and keeps her mind empty from Isaac, from nearly dying, and she needs a distraction right now. 

"Hey, Lydia?" Allison asks when Lydia's readjusting her lip gloss. "You have any idea what happened to my phone, by the way?"

Lydia's face falls and she licks her lips. "The police took it in for evidence, I think. They were trying to get a time frame of your 'mugging' and were looking for some texts or whatever to help indicate the exact time of your stabbing. I'll try to see if they can return it to you soon."

Allison flashes her a dry smile, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. "Thanks."

Lydia places her other hand to steady her moving hand and warmly smiles back. "Anytime." A loud and firm beep fills the air and Lydia groans, reaching over to pick her phone out of her purse that sits on the edge of Allison's bed. 

"It's my mom," she vaguely explains. "Wants to know what time I'm coming home. Do you want me to stay any longer? It's not that I don't want to say," she explains. "I have a mountain of homework and I was kind of hoping I'd get some sleep tonight," she wryly jokes.

"You don't have to stay here all night," Allison assures her. "But you  _could_ do me a favor and call my dad? Tell him to visit soon."

"Aww, do you miss your dad?" Lydia teases, as she furiously texts away, hitting send with a smile. "And done."

A  _beep_ shortly follows. "He says he'll be here in an hour."

"You should probably go now," Allison says. "I'd love to keep you here for the rest of my stay, but you have schoolwork and much to my dismay, a life. See you tomorrow?"

Lydia nods, bending over to press her lips gently against Allison's forehead. "See you tomorrow." She walks out, heels clicking against the dull hospital tiles.

Allison sighs. All she's left with now are old reruns of soap operas that ended before she was born. But to her delight, a familiar figure enters the room with a big grin. "Malia?"

"In the flesh!" She proudly declares, walking into light with a box of chocolate in hand. "Chocolate makes me feel good when I'm sad, so here," she says, thrusting the box into Allison's hands.

Allison simply smiles, feeling overwhelmed with thankfulness. "Thank you. I could really use some chocolate right now," she admits with a sigh. All she wants to do right now is to see Isaac. To touch him. To talk to him. The one person she truly wants to see isn't here, and she wishes for a split second that she was with him right now. That she'd actually  _died._

But the logical voice in her head tells her to be thankful that she's here, that she's alive. 

Malia's voice brings her back to reality and out of her thoughts.

"You don't mind if I'm here, do you?" Malia asks, raising a brow.

Allison immediately shakes her head, chewing on a piece of chocolate she'd taken from the box. "Of course not. I'd love some company, honestly."

Malia grins, plopping onto a seat placed right next to Allison's bed."Good. It seems lonely in here."

She sighs, swallowing a chunk of chocolate with a hum. "It is," she mumbles. "It's lonely as hell in here, and I can't wait to get out. Even if it does mean going back to school. You want some?" She asks, seeing Malia eyeing the box in her clutch.

"I do, but that'd be rude. It's your gift."

She chuckles, holding out a round and clumpy piece. "It'd be rude not to accept something from someone that nearly died and is in the hospital," Allison retorts, thrusting her hand out.

"I like your logic." She stands up, grabs the piece, stuffs it into her mouth and returns comfortably to her seat.

"Did you genuinely want to visit me or did you just feel bad for me?" Allison asks randomly, because the thought came to her and she couldn't get it out of her mind.

 "Both," Malia admits, chewing loudly on the chocolate in her mouth. "Mainly because I wanted to talk to you, though. Don't worry - I'm not here outta pity."

Allison smiles, staring at her hands in her lap. "Thank you."

"For what?"

" ... I don't know yet."

"You're a funny person, Alison." Malia pauses. "I like it, though," she says.

"You're a funny person, too."

They spend the next half hour or so talking, laughing, and simply getting to each other. Time passes by, that neither girl notices the sky darkening or the time until Chris Argent walks in with a stuffed bear and a huge smile on his face.

"Hey baby - oh, hi Malia." His face darkens when he sees Malia, the smiling fading off his face. It's as if he feels the need to be emotionless and stoic around other people. Other people that weren't his daughter, at least.

"Hi dad," Allison says. 

"Sorry I took so long," he murmurs, rushing to her side. He kissed her forehead, putting the bear in her lap. "I thought this would help you sleep."

Allison's cheeks were ablaze. Judging from the goofy grin on Malia's lips, she figures that Malia won't let this go. 

"I should go now," Malia murmurs, lifting up and out of her seat, bag in hand. "It's getting late - 'M sure my dad is worried."

"You sure?" Allison is a bit disappointed - she wants to spend more time with the girl, she wants to continue to get to know her.

"I'm sure," Malia insists. "It was nice seeing you, Allison. Nice seeing you too, Mr Argent."

Chris smiles nicely and politely and Malia walks out.

Allison can't help but watch the girl go, feeling the urge to call her name out.

She doesn't act on the urge.

* * *

Malia finds it amazing that she'll text Stiles, and each respond says he'll be there in five minutes. Utter bullshit, Malia thinks. It's when Stiles texts her saying he can't make it does she completely forget why she's ever liked him to begin with. She hopes Scott won't disappoint. She calls him and she hears his soft voice on the first ring.

"Hey, Malia. Somethin' wrong?"

"No, no. I just visited Allison and I need a ride. My dad isn't home and I asked Stiles, but he  _bailed._ Help me out?" She shivered, the cold air sweeping past her body, forcing her to tug her sleeves over her shaky hands.

"Of course. I'll be there in ten minutes. And I won't bail out on you."

"Thanks, Scott."

She hangs up, shoving her phone back into her backpack. She plops down onto the bench that's placed in front of the hospital, tapping her foot anxiously against the ground. She enjoys the view. The sun is setting and the sky is a perfect blend of colors, worthy of an Instagram shot. She's noticed in her few months back to the human life that people  _love_ taking shots of the sky and posting them online. Malia prefers to stare at them, soaking up the beauty.

A familiar odor fills her nose and she whips her head up and sees Scott's mother's car pull him. Squinting, she can make out Scott, sitting in the front seat. He doesn't notice her at first, climbing out of the car and he looks around for a moment too long. His eyes finally land on hers and he does a slight half jog toward her. "Malia!" He calls out, hands snug in his sweaters pockets.

She smiles and joins him. 

He politely opens the door for her and she graciously slides into the cramped car, immediately buckling her seat belt. "Thanks for being on time."

He laughs as he slips into the drivers seat, shutting the door with a slam. "I like being on time. How was Allison doing?"

"Good," she admits, muscles relaxing when she leans into the chair. She regrets her choice as soon as the car starts moving and unwanted memories fill her head. She's desperately trying to make them stop, leave, and she (tries to) focus on Scott. 

He seems to notice her, notice the change of heartbeat. "Tell me about your visit," he says calmly and in a soothing voice. He drives slowly - cars behind them honk, but Scott ignores it.

"Malia, tell me abut the visit," he says again when she doesn't respond.

"Uh, it was nice. She was nice to talk to. She asked about you, actually - asked why you haven't visited recently."

This seems to hit a sensitive spot, Scott's face paling. "Oh. Well, it's because -"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Scott," she assures him. Talking to him helps rid the thought that haunt her and she's thankful that he's able to pick these things up with ease. "I get it. It's hard seeing the people you love in pain like that. With everything that's happened, I'm sure she understands."

"I hope so."

The rest of the five minute drive is silent, aside from the Justin Bieber blaring from the radio. 

He clears his throat when he arrives to her home. "And here we have the home of Malia Tate," he announces, and it makes Malia laugh.

"Thank you," she murmurs, leaning over to wrap her arms around Scott's frame.

"Any time." He understands that she's thanking him for more than just driving her home.

She jumps out of the car, closing the door on her way out. Reaching into her purse, she scrambles and gropes the piles of things until she feels the metal outline of her key. Twisting the door open, she waves to Scott, rushing inside. The door closes with a loud, sharp slam and she sighs. 

She immediately calls her father - he doesn't answer. Well, she hangs up on the first ring, too impatient to wait for the consecutive rings. 

She calls Stiles and he, unlike her father, answers on the first ring. "Hey, Malia! Wassup?"

His overly cheery voice makes her want to punch him in the face. "Nothing much. I've just been waiting for you for the past hour now in the cold, spring air. Thanks for forgetting about me. Nice to know how much I mean to you, jackass," she seethes. Oh, she is  _so_ not letting this go. She might as well have a little fun with it. 

"Oh,  _fuck,_ " he exclaims, voice loud. "I'll be there soon, I promise! I lost track of time, I swear I didn't mean to - " 

"Who are you with Stiles?"

"... Lydia."

Malia presses her lips into a thin line. She wasn't jealous - was she? Honestly, her feelings were confusing to herself at most times. She knows one thing, however: she's incredibly pissed off with Stiles Stilinski. "Well, tell her to go home and haul your ass here before I vow to never speak to you again!" She snaps.

"Yes, ma'am," he says teasingly.

"Now!" She barks, fighting back a snort of laughter when she can hear a disgruntled shriek on the other hand. She hangs up, feeling prideful. This is karma for you, folks.

She couldn't believe he forgot about her. How  _dare_ he? She tries not to let it affect her emotions and state of being, but ultimately, it fails. She lays on her bed, listening to loud, rock music through her earbuds. It drowns out the other noises. Like her annoying neighbors playing outside, their dog barking loudly, and the furnace rumbling from the basement. It doesn't drown out her thoughts out - that was a trick Malia was still figuring out. It doesn't drown out the distinct bing of her phone. 

She lifts her phone up, brows arching curiously. She expects it to be Stiles, furiously demanding where she is, but it's from Allison.

_Hi, cutie!!! :) Hope I'm not bothering. It's kinda, sorta, really boring in this hospital room. Dad fell asleep too, so .... :P_

She replies with a slight grin.  _hey hotstuff? it's okay, i like being bothered by you. is there drool on his face? i say you take a pic and use it as blackmail._

_I like the way your mind works, Malia Tate._

Attached to that, is a photo of Chris Argent, with his head lulled to the side, arms curled up and the unmistakable sight of drool rolling down his cheeks. She feels giddy, finding this totally hilarious. But then her phone buzzes and it's Stiles calling her.  _brb. stilles is calliiiiing me._

She presses answer, and her music stops playing. 

"Yes, Stiles?" She keeps her voice innocent sounding.

"So, where are you? I'm in the front of the hospital. I don't see you anywhere." He sound like he's mid-panicking and Malia feels bad, but the feeling passes.

"Are you blind? I'm literally standing right by the entrance."

"I don't see you. I think I'm losing it, holy shit."

"Yeah, you are. I'm waving at you, do you not see me?"

"Fuck no! Maybe  _you're_ losing it," he sounds like he's teasing her. "Step forward?"

She pauses, taking the time as if she's actually stepping forward. "Done. Get out of your shit car for a sec so I can see you."

She hears shifting and movement. "Done."

"I swear, if you're at the wrong hospital - "

"That's impossible Malia. There's only one hospital in Beacon Hills, so I'd have to be a big dumb ass to drive out of Beacon Hills."

"Or a big of a dumbass that forgets his to pick his girlfriend up?" Her voice cracks when the word girlfriend comes out, and she realizes that they haven't really classified anything. She quickly backs it up, trying to twist this awkward moment. "Oh wait, never mind. I'm actually home right now and got a ride from Scott, a person who actually cares enough to remember about me. Have fun driving home!"

She hangs up before he can utter a word, and wonders if she's too pissed off. Maybe she should go easy on him. She decides to ask her new friend for some advice.

_back. hey, can i ask for some advice?_

Malia receives a quick response.  _sure._

_so, i asked stilles to pick me up from the hospital after the visit. i kept calling cause he was bein late. he fucking forgot about  me! so i called scott and when i got home, i remembered how angry i was, so i called him. he suddenly remembered and i made him think i was still there. he called me when he got there and i was kinda bitter and salty.you think i'm pushing it?_

She sees the dot thing that alerts her that Allison's typing and it's taking forever, making her anxious. When she finally gets a reply, she's relieved.

_nah, not at all. i suggest you ice him out for a few days. let him have it. then just resolve it. act like everything's normal again. that should be fine._

That sounds rational, she thinks.  _thanks._

_any time. i can't believe "stilles"  would forget you._

_right? and why r there quotes around his name?_

A beat. 

_I'll tell you in person._


	4. Chapter 4

Allison doesn't want to return to school.

Not for the obvious, stereotypical reason that she hates school, which isn't exactly a false statement, but it's more than that. Allison could use some normalcy, but the nightmares and hallucinations were wearing her down and she truly did not believe she was ready to return. All those people, all that stress - it'd surely worsen her already terrible condition. But she didn't say anything, didn't speak up. The hospital was boring enough and her injuries were fine. Speaking up would only worry her dad and friends and that was something she'd done enough of.

Her first subject was Math class, and she arrives early. It's been a miserable morning - people who've never uttered a word to her come up to her, wishing her the best, treating her like a victim. And sure, she is - but she doesn't want the world to know it. She grins for the first time that day when she sees Malia walk into the room a few minutes before the first bell, a huge scowl on her face. But she perks up when she sees Allison, sliding into the seat next to her. 

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today," Allison teases softly, elbow propping her face up in her hands. 

Malia rolls her eyes playfully, leaning into her chair. "Do you  _blame_ me?"

Allison laughs. Malia does have a point. "Yeah well, trying being the girl that got stabbed. Everyone  _pities_ me and I'm sick of it. They're treating me like a damn five year old!"

Malia's brow furrows. "What's wrong with extra attention?"

"It's different. I just hate being the victim," she explains generally. 

"Better than being the monster," huffs Malia.

Allison doesn't respond, not wanting to say the wrong thing. She knows vaguely of Malia's past, of what she's referring to. Allison can somewhat relate. Stabbing Boyd, Erica and Isaac has haunted her previously, but she's never murdered her family. She opts for a light, joking reply. "I never knew monsters could be so gorgeous."

She opens her mouth to retort, cheeks flushing with a beautiful shade of red but she snaps her head to the door. Allison follows her gaze, puzzled, but when she sees Stiles, a pout forms on her mouth. 

"You're seriously not mad at me, are you?" Stiles asks, slipping into the seat on Malia's left.

Malia's attention directs to him and Allison wants to bludgeon Stiles with her shoe. 

"Depends. Are you going to apologize?"

"I'm sorry."

Malia stares.

"What can I do to make it up to you?"

"Take me out."

Stiles grins.

Ms Fleming, their math teacher, walks in and all conversation falls quiet.

The class goes by quickly, with the occasional pitying and sympathetic question and stares that Allison's lost count of. When the bell for next period goes, she goes to Malia. "Can I walk you to next class?"

Malia beams. "Sure."

She waits until they've walked a decent length to ask, "Are you and Stiles dating?"

Malia looks taken aback at the question, taking a long pause to think. "I think so."

"Do you want to be dating?" Allison rephrases. She's curious, sue her. She doesn't know why she's so interested in Malia Tate's love life, but she is and it irks her.

"I don't know," Malia says quickly.

Allison sighs out of relief. "You know about him and his obsession with Lydia?"

"Why are we talking about this?" Malia says, narrowing her eyes at Allison.

Allison is just making sure, being a good  friend. "You don't have to snap at me."

"You don't have to talk about things I already know."

"I'm trying to be a decent friend! You don't want to start anything when he's invested in someone else." To Allison, this makes sense. What is Malia's deal? Why is she being so ... so rude? 

"And you're the love expert, huh? You couldn't even keep your boyfriend alive," Malia spews out harshly.

"Hey, at least I didn't murder him."

Malia makes sure she shoves Allison when she walks past her.

* * *

Malia doesn't know what happened in that brief two minute walk to class and how things escalated so quickly. All she knows is she's pissed at Allison and being forced to sit with her merely fuels her anger. She chews her food in silent, earning a worried glance from Kira. 

"You alright?" Kira whispers, nudging her softly.

"Yeah, just tired," she lies. 

It's replayed over and over in her head and refuses to apologize. Sure, it was a low blow to make that comment on Isaac, but does that redeem Allison? No, no way in hell and Malia doesn't regret saying what she said.

She casts her share of angry glances at Allison who looks away. Malia notices the way her heart speeds up nervously, anxiously when Malia looks at her.

It gives Malia a sense of pride.

Malia feels out of place. They're all joking around, talking like they've known each other forever, while Malia sits on the courtyard bench, playing around with her food.

When the bell rings and they all, Scott, Lydia, Kira and Stiles, leave, Malia bolts off to class, scowling when she feels a hand latch onto her arm.

"I'm sorry."

"You should be," Malia says, turning around to face her. 

"That was low and mean and hurtful and I'm really sorry. Forgive me, please?" Allison's eyes are big and pleading and there's a sincerity in her voice.

Malia gives in easily, finding it difficult to resist those puppy-dog eyes. "I don't forgive people this often, you know," she jokes.

Allison loops around Malia's, looking immensely relieved. "I feel special," she says and comfortably resting her head on her shoulder.

Malia tugs her closer. "I'm sorry about what I said about Isaac. I'm usually this mean. You'll still stick around?"

Allison's heart skips a beat at the mention of him and she grips onto Malia's arm harder. "Yes, of course."

"Let me escort you to your next class."

 


	5. Chapter 5

Malia dislikes going to her house. It reminds her of many things she'd prefer to forget and leave in the past, and it's not even anything in particular. Memories of her sister, of her mother will randomly pop up and play over and over again in her head until she sobs. She does not want to cry, and especially doesn't want her father seeing her cry. He's suggested moving, but Malia knows that he doesn't have the money for a move and she won't make the request, even if she wants to. 

Usually, she heads off to Stiles after school to avoid being in her room and being forced to confront her old memories of her childhood and past, and slips in occasionally during the night when sleep is impossible. She's still pissed at Stiles though, for forgetting to pick her up the other day, so he isn't an option. She refuses to cave in easily, to go back to him after he hurt her like that. She won't be mad at him forever, obviously, but a week would be good.

So she finds Kira after last period, tapping her forehead gently, remembering the last time she grabbed Kira's arm in an attempt to get her attention. That got her flipped and she hit the floor  _hard,_ leaving a group of passing freshmen horrified.

Kira turns around, grinning when she sees Malia.

"Glad you've stopped flipping people when you greet them," Malia jokes.

Kira's cheeks flush out of embarrassment, elbow nudging Malia in the arm. "Oh, can it, you. You startled me. In this town, can you blame me for being ready to attack? If you were here to kill me, I would've survived, now wouldn't I?"

She nods, rolling her eyes, because  _obviously_ Kira's equipped to fight and be able to attack someone under surprise. Is that even debatable? "I didn't come to question your fighting skills," Malia says flatly. "Can I come over, like, now? Don't really want to home, and I'm kinda mad at Stiles, so." She doesn't want to go into details, but that probably won't stop Kira from asking.

"Of course you can come, silly!" She hooks her arm around Malia, never fearing to be touchy and affectionate, especially with Malia. "What's wrong with Stiles? What'd he do this time?" She asks with a pout, looking concerned.

She snorts to herself, because she totally predicted Kira asking about him. She shortly smells him, and her heartbeat speeds up, but she grins anyway, because she's excited to go to Kira's house and spend time with her. When she passes him in the locker hallway, she holds her breath, listening to his heartbeat, expecting an increase.

His heartbeat remains the same, even when he sees her.

So her grin fades, but not completely, and she stops thinking of him because truly, she wants to have fun with Kira. "I'll tell you about it at your house."

* * *

Kira has the cutest pajamas, Malia thinks, as she pulls her shirt over her head and shortly replaces it with a loose, Superman shirt. "I'm done," she calls out. Malia doesn't see the issue of changing in front of Kira, but Kira made this big speech about the importance of privacy that Malia pretty much zoned out of. So she didn't argue, didn't put up a fight and didn't complain when Kira left her own damn bedroom to give Malia privacy she didn't need.

It's not like she cares. She didn't care who saw her body, as long as it wasn't someone like her dad or Coach Finstock. 

"I'm  _done,_ Kira, gosh, it's not a big fucking -"

"Hello, Malia." A cold smile spreads across Mrs Yukimura's face as she steps into her daughter's bedroom.

Malia clamps a hand over her mouth, feeling her cheeks redden. She's an idiot, oh shit, she'll be kicked out and never invited again, and that prospect makes her a stuttering, stammering mess. "I didn't mean to say that, sorry, I know it was rude, I didn't mean to, your daughter's, like, my best friend, you know that, right? I'll use appropriate language, I  _swear,_ " Malia blurts out, slurring her words together.

"It's fine, Malia," she says, chuckling, sounding amused with the situation. "I drop my fair share of F bombs. Just keep your voice down when you do it, okay? Try not to be so ... so loud. I just wanted to see if you were hungry. I'm cooking, so."

Malia shakes her head politely, offering her a thin-lipped smile. "Uh, sure, that sounds nice," she says, throat drier than before. She's sweating, and she's sure it's due to nervousness.

"I'll bring it here when I'm finished." She steps out the door, just as Kira walks in, and both Yukimura women bump into each other.

"Why was my mom talking to you and in my room?" Kira asks the second the door shuts. She's wearing Batman pajamas, looking freaking adorable.

Malia shrugs. "She wanted to say hi, I guess." She lets out a sigh of relief that the conversation is over, because Kira's mom is scarier than she'd care to admit. "Movie marathon or  _what?_ " 

Kira slides next to Malia on her bed, giving her a suggestive look. "After you tell me about you and Stiles," she prompts.

Malia huffs inaudibly. She doesn't want to talk about it, but she did tell Kira earlier she'd spill, so she spills. "I don't know what his deal is! He's all cute and boyfriend-like when we're alone, but I don't think he likes me like that. Or he just doesn't want other people to know we're with each other. Or he's too obsessed with Lydia to give a shit." Either of the three options are terrible, but she thinks the last one would be worse.

Kira rolls her eyes, like Malia is being unreasonable. "He likes you, clearly. Lydia is out of the picture. I'll tell Scott to knock some sense into his brainless friend," she says, like it's simple and easy.

It is not simply and easy.

Not at all.

But Malia smiles earnestly, like she believes everything will be alright, but it fades shortly because she shouldn't have to pretend in front of her best friend, right? "I don't even know if I want to be with him. I mean, I like him, but I'm too messed up. I'm a terrible person, aren't I? Besides ... he's grieving, isn't he? He's going through too much for a girlfriend."

"Don't worry about it, okay? If he's not ready or doesn't have time, he wouldn't be spending every afternoon with you," she points out, making a fair point. "You're not a terrible person, either. You did some bad things. So have I. So did he. So has Lydia. And Allison."

Malia pauses, because what? Allison Argent, the savior sent from above, has done terrible things? Surely not as bad as the things Malia's done. She shouldn't ask, since really, it isn't any of her business an it's all in the past now, but her curiosity is too strong for her to let it slide. "What has Allison done? That's bad, I mean?" She knows about everyone else, pretty much. Even the people she hasn't mentioned.

Like Derek, Malia's cousin, when he was on his power craze when he was still an alpha and Erica and Boyd, two people estranged but friendly and somewhat close with the pack, who helped him. She knows these things. No one tops Malia, though, and her murders. Maybe Stiles, but he wasn't in control and Malia doesn't think it counts, even though Stiles does.

Kira doesn't hesitate to answer. "Her family are hunters. A while back, before either or you were - were introduced to this world, her grandfather was being a total jerk, I guess. He managed to manipulate her, and well, she went against Scott and Isaac and she stabbed him a bunch of times and Erica and Boyd. She made some bad decisions, but eventually returned to the good side after her uncle's nasty side was shown."

"Oh," is all Malia can say. 

"Anyway, moving on - let's start with Captain America?"

Malia finds the movie mostly boring, and falls asleep twice. Thankfully, Kira doesn't really notice, too indulged in the film to really pay attention to the stillness of Malia. Kira seems to enjoy it, so Malia doesn't really say anything, even when the movie is finished ( _finally)_ and Kira asks what she thought.

"It was good," Malia says blankly, arms stretching out in a yawn. "Would your mom mind if I slept over?" 

Kira scrunches her brows in thought, before shaking her head. "Probably not. Call your dad and ask," she says, thrusting the home phone in her hand. 

She takes it, and dials her dad's number. "Hello, dad?" She says when he answers.

"Malia?"

"Yeah, dad, can I stay at Kira's tonight? We have this huge history assignment, and -"

"Malia," her father cuts in.

She groans, but won't make a snappy, stereotypical teenage comment. " _Yes,_ father?" She tries to limit the annoyance in her voice, truly, but it's difficult.

"I know when you're lying."

She pales, turning her face away from Kira to hide her cheeks flushing. "Whaaaat?" She says, trying to feign shock.

"Malia," he says, chuckling a bit, like he's enjoying catching her daughter in the middle of a lie. "I'm your father. Of course I know when you're lying. It's okay if you want to. I - I understand that being home brings back nightmares and fear and anxiety, and I get it. I do. Just be honest about it, okay? I won't get upset or blame you for trying to avoid sleeping here. I understand, really, I do."

She sniffs, because her dad gets it, and she really wants to hug him right now, but she can't, so she settles on making a mental reminder to hug him when she gets home tomorrow. "Can I stay at Kira's house tonight?"

"Yes, you can," he says softly and gently, a tone she isn't quite used to, not yet.

"I love you, dad. Thanks."

"You too, honey."

She hangs up, nodding at Kira, shooting her a thumbs up. "He said yes." She wants to tell Kira about her father and how she feels, but for now, she wants to keep it to herself, wants to keep it private. This is important to her, and her father understanding her and her feelings makes her unbelievably relieved and happy. Well, happy isn't the right word, but she's ... she's pleased. 

"Captain America 2?" Kira says. She looks excited, like a kid exploring a candy shop. How can Malia resist that face?

"Let's do it."

* * *

 

Malia wakes up in Kira's bed next to her, with pieces of popcorn stuck to her cheeks. There is absolutely no shame felt when she pulls the pieces off and tosses it into her mouth. It's not the healthiest option, especially for the first thing she'll consume today, but she doesn't really care. She glances over her shoulder, to Kira, who's peacefully sleeping and hogging three quarters of the damn bed. Malia wants to give the girl a nudge and  _gently_ push her over, but she doesn't, since she's a light sleeper and with one touch, gentle or not, Kira will definitely wake up.

She peeks at the clock, reading 9:04. She might as well get up, and make herself a cup of coffee or something. So slowly, she rolls off the bed and tiptoes out the room. She sees a groggy, tired-looking Ken Yukimura and literally has to bite down on her lips to keep from laughing at that sight. It's priceless, she thinks, especially when he realizes she's there.

"Oh! Hey, hey - hey, Malia." He tries to look suave, and it's totally not working. His dark, black hair is ruffled, a cup of coffee in his hand and a blue robe is fitting his body. He's pretty short, and looks as cheerful as anyone at 9 am would be.

"Good morning, Mr Yukimura," Malia says, smiling sweetly. "Would you mind making me a cup o' that?"

He shakes his head. "Course I wouldn't mind. I'll get a cup in for you. Get freshened up, and I'll make you my pancakes. Spoiler alert: they're pretty dang awesome." He shoots her an enthusiastic grin, before walking down the stairs.

Alright than.

After she brushes her teeth and washes her face, she makes her way to the kitchen, sitting on the round table. "Where's Mrs Yukimura?" She asks, sipping the hot drink Ken put in front of her.

"Work," he explains generally.

She doesn't press on, even if she's curious about the line of work she's in. Malia's best guess would be an assassin, because Noshiko Yukimura would  _totally_ be the best assassin, like, ever. "Cool." She feels his gaze burn into her head when she puts her first bite of his pancakes into her mouth, and when she swallows it, he looks hopeful, his eyes widened. She wants to say it tastes terrible, just to see his reaction, but she doesn't, because that'd be too cruel. "They taste  _great,_ Mr Yukimura!"

He grins broadly, like he's trying to be modest. "Thanks, Malia!"

Kira shortly arrives, looking grumpy, her hair in a series of knots that Malia wants to pet. "Morning," she grumbles, before she yawns, outstretching her arms. "Coffee and pancakes, please."

Ken smiles knowingly, like he knew Kira would say that, and nods. "Coming  _right_ up!" 

"Morning," Malia mumbles, as she downs her last sip of coffee. Honestly, it tastes terrible, but it boosts her energy and she isn't as tired. "Hey - you're going tomorrow, right?"

Kira nods. "Yeah, with Scott. You're going too, right?"

"Yeah." The funeral for Isaac Lahey is tomorrow, at 10 am. She'll have to go by herself, since her father will be working, but she doesn't really mind. "You think Allison would want to go with me?"

Kira shrugs, eyes lighting up when Ken brings a plate of pancakes and cup of coffee. "Thanks," she murmurs, "And I don't know. Maybe. Text her and find out." She cuts her pancakes into pieces, sighing. "It'll be a sad funeral. Sadder than usual," she quickly adds. "Wonder who'll show up."

"His - his family's dead, right?" 

"Yes. Mother killed herself, father was killed a year ago, and brother died in Iraq. He was a soldier," she explains when Malia raises a brow.

"How sad," Ken says, frowning. "Who'd he live with, then? Before he - before he died?"

"Scott and his mom, right?" Malia asks, lowering her fork onto the plate. It makes a sharp noise that makes her annoyed, but she ignores it, because she wants to know about Isaac. "Right?"

"Mhm. They took him in."

The room falls quiet. 

Malia hopes that aisles upon aisles will fill tomorrow, because from what she knows, he seemed to be a good person who suffered too much and lived too little. She wants people to respect him and remember him, like she hopes they remember the tiny girl that played on the streets and the woman that loved baking for others. She hopes they remember them and that they never really forgot.

She whips her phone out of her pocket when Kira starts talking to her dad which she doesn't mind, and composes a text to Allison.  _hey, alison, u wanna go 2morrow w/ me?_

Allison replies quickly.  _I'd love to. Be by my place at 9:15 and we can get ready 2gether._

 _sounds like a plan,_ she responds. 

She grins, so broadly that Kira nudges her. "Stiles texted you?"

She furrows her brows. "No - why would you think that?"

"You're smiling. Like, very widely. No one smiles like that if there isn't a crush involved," Kira tells her knowingly, shoving another piece of pancakes into her mouth.

"It's not Stiles," Malia says. "I'm texting Allison."

"Well, do you ...?" Kira trails, not finishing her sentence. 

Malia doesn't understand. "Do I  _what?_ " She asks irritably, not appreciating the lack of specifics and details. " _Do I what?_ " She asks again, annoyed when Kira takes too long to answer.

"Do you like her?"

The question makes her confused, because the answer is very clear to Malia. "Obviously I do. Why else would I be texting her?" This is clear to her, and Kira's question seems pointless. "Don't you like her?"

Kira smiles, dropping her fork onto her plate with a sharp _clink._ "Not like a friend. Do you  _like_ her? Romantically? Like, how I like Scott and how my parents like each other," she says slowly and carefully.

"Oh," Malia says. "I don't think so." She won't pretend like she knows and understands every feeling she has, and she's pretty sure Allison's just a friend, but after having Kira ask her that, she questions it. "Allison likes Isaac."

"Isaac isn't ..." Kira pauses, trying to sensitively phrase her words. "She isn't with Isaac anymore, though."

She's kind of annoyed and finds this topic worn out. "I don't like her, not like that," she says dismissively. "So, have you and Scott  _finally_ classified things?"

Kira grins like she's been waiting for Malia to ask that.

* * *

Malia leaves right after breakfast because she has a lot of homework to do, and while Kira would definitely be helpful, she's too much of a distraction. She's halfway through her second set of Algebra questions, when her phone buzzes. She knows she should just leave it, but it could be an emergency, so she slides off her bed and picks it off of the top of her shelf.

_Allison is calling._

She hits answer quickly, holding it close to her ear. "Allison, is something wrong?"

"Can you come over, please? Right now?" She sounds like she's crying.

"Uh, do you want to come over to my house? No one's home, so we'll have more privacy. You probably know where I live." _Since you helped turn me human. Since you're why I'm here. Since you nearly shot me as a coyote._ She doesn't dare say any of those things.

"Oh, yeah, that sounds good. Is that - is that okay with you?"

"Of course," Malia says. "Be over soon. Text me when you come."

When Allison hits end call, Malia just takes her phone and plugs her headphones in. She blares some loud music and she does her questions and as she's writing her History paper, her phone buzzes. 

_I'm here, Malia._

She takes the headphones off, pausing her music. She nearly trips as she races down her stairs and swings the door open.

Allison's biting down on her lip, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "Hi," she says.

"Hi," Malia says, reaching over to take her hand.

She flinches, so Malia retracts. "Come in."

Allison steps in, looking around, with her hands in her pockets. "Where's your dad?"

Malia doesn't really see a point to her small talk since something is clearly wrong with Allison, but she won't complain, since that'd be rude and Allison is obviously upset and she doesn't want to further that. "He's at work. Your parents are home, I'm assuming?"

She nods. "Yeah, my dad's home."

 _Her mother is dead, you idiot._ "Sorry, I forgot -"

"It's fine," Allison cuts in, waving a hand dismissively. 

"Is there something you wanted to talk about, Allison?" Malia says, going straight to the point, because there isn't much of a reason to dance around it with small talk.

"I just - I just didn't want to be alone." She sounds My dad went out, and I just - I just started to cry. I couldn't stop. I don't even know  _what's_ wrong, what's wrong with me -"

"There's nothing wrong with you." Malia knows it's rude to interrupt, especially when Allison's so vulnerable, but she has to say it. "There's  _nothing_ wrong with you," she repeats. "You just have a lot of feelings, and that is totally okay. Don't think that just because you cry about something or someone that mattered to you, that it makes you a terrible person. You're wonderful, okay? You wouldn't beat yourself up for laughing too hard, and not being able to stop, right?"

Allison shakes her head.

"Exactly. So don't blame yourself for feeling, for doing what every human being was conditioned to do," Malia says.

Allison nods, despite the flow of tears streaming down her cheeks. She sniffs, but doesn't shed another tear after that.

Malia offers her hand. "You wanna come up to my room?"

She gingerly takes Malia's hand, sucking in on her lower lip. "I'd, uh - I'd like that."

"This is definitely not what I thought Malia Tate's room would look like," Allison says with a slight smirk when she walks inside Malia's room.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asks with a frown, curling up on a reclining seat near her desk with all her homework. She shuts her history textbook absentmindedly, raising an eyebrow at Allison.

"For starters, it's pink. You seem like you're a blue girl," Allison says.

"I'm white," Malia says blankly.

"No, I -" Allison stops, bursting into a bout of laughter. She clutches her stomach like this is the funniest thing she's heard all week, taking a seat on Malia's bed. 

Malia's confused and slightly annoyed, feeling like she's being left out of a joke which technically she is, but she won't voice her complains. 

"I mean, you seem like you liked blue growing up," Allison explains.

"Yeah, well, my sister chose it," Malia says, shocking herself at the ease that comes with saying it. She swings in the chair, nearly knocking into her desk, but thankfully, she doesn't. 

Allison doesn't say anything, watching Malia intently to gauge her reaction and tone of voice. "Now that makes sense," she says once she realizes that there isn't sadness in Malia's voice, and that she isn't about to burst into tears or something. "I like your bed sheets, though."

Even though Malia's had those sheets since she was six, her eyes follow Allison's to her dark, blue sheets and she is perplexed, because those are just plain, boring sheets. Then she notices the faded bow and arrow, realizing it's some weird, Robin Hood sheet her mom bought her at some garage sale. It's a ratty, torn up thing, but it's familiar and is easy to fall asleep to, which is why she refuses to buy new sheets, despite her father's constant requests.

"Thanks, I guess," Malia says. "You gotta take me to your room, now."

"Why?" 

"So I can critique it."

Allison just laughs, throwing one of Malia's pillows at her. "Oh, shut up."

" _Make_ me," she says back, bending over to pick it up and flinging it right back at Allison.

Allison's smile broadens and it's an all-out pillow fight, which results in both girls on the floor, laughing when Malia just pushes Allison.

Malia's chest feels tight, especially when Allison wraps an arm around Malia casually and lazily. She's glad Allison's just a human, because her heart is pounding and she doesn't really understand why. She just tugs Allison closer, until she's on top of her.

She can hear Allison's heartbeat increase and again, doesn't understand why.

Allison seems to notice her heart's sudden increase and remembers that Malia can hear her, since she rolls off of her and lands near her reclining chair. 

"Your floor's soft," Allison blurts out randomly.

She snorts. "The magic of having a carpet," she says.

"Shut up."

 _You said that already,_ Malia wants to say, but doesn't. "Make me."

Allison raises her head, and she looks like she's about to lean over, but she doesn't. "Do you have anything to eat?" She stammers, looking disappointed.

"Not really. We can go out. There's a McDonalds nearby, you know. It'd be a five minute walk."

"And if I get tired of walking?"

Malia doubts it, since Allison's apparently a gymnast and very athletic. "I can carry you." It'd be easy. Allison's probably heavy, but Malia's supernatural abilities allow her to carry heavy things - and people - with ease. "You in or what?"

"I'm in," Allison says grinning.

So when Malia and Allison both get up, Malia hoists Allison into the air. " _What_ are you doing?" Allison nearly shrieks, but she doesn't try pulling herself off or getting back on the ground. She wraps her legs around Malia's waist, and again, her heart beats wildly and rapidly.

There's a strand of hair sticking out of Allison's face, and Malia wants to push it aside, but she's scared if she moves her hand, Allison will fall. So she just blows until the strand eventually shifts. "I said I'd carry you."

"If I get tired," Allison points out, but she doesn't press further. She looks like she wants to ask about her gently blowing air on her face, but she doesn't act on that.

* * *

 

They order more than the probably should: two medium drinks, two large fries, a big mac, a wrap and a ten-piece chicken nuggets. Malia's annoyed with herself since she'd forgotten to bring some money with her, so Allison voluntarily opts to pay for the entire meal. Malia makes a mental reminder to slip the money she owes into Allison's bag or something when she's not looking and when she actually remembers to bring money.

" _Ugh,_ so much better than hospital food," Allison practically groans as she stuffs another french fry into her mouth.

"No duh," Malia says, taking a big bite out of her big mac. 

"What would you do if someone from school came?"

Allison is obviously gesturing to the embarrassment that comes with being seen in public, at McDonalds, pigging out with that much food and how awkward it'd be and how they'd probably find it humiliating, but Malia's not one to care about her reputation. "Continue eating?"

"I like your attitude, Malia," Allison says.

Malia beams, as she wolfs down her burger. "This place probably has human meat or something for the burgers, but literally, I don't care. This could be Stiles for all I cared and I'd happily eat it." She's exaggerating, obviously, but  _damn,_ does she love the food here.

It's four pm, and the place is pretty packed, and Malia feels lucky that they've scored this table. 

"When's your dad coming home?"

That's when Malia's eyes widen and she fumbles for her phone, opening up to see fifteen missed calls. " _Dammit._ " She'd much rather go home and see the damage for herself than hear him scream and lecture her over the phone, but neither are desirable right now, so she texts him. "My dad's going to kill me," she groans, hitting send.

He sees her text about Allison coming over and them walking to McDonalds, but doesn't reply, making her annoyed. "I'm a dead woman."

"He's just worried about you," Allison says knowingly, wiping a sauce stain off her cheek. "He  _did_ lose you for eight years, Malia. He thought you were kidnapped."

"I wasn't!" Looking back, the whole kidnapped story was terrible. When she was turned back to human, she made some story up about  _thinking_ she was being kidnapped, and wandering the roads and streets for years with amnesia. Then when her memory came back, she dazedly made her way back home. Sure, there were a lot of holes in her story, and some police officers thought she'd straight up murdered her parents in a fit and fled with the help of an aunt.  _That_ aunt died two years ago, and those officers thought she killed them too. That would've made better sense than her terrible amnesia thing, but people believed it. "I  _forgot who I was_ and was a  _drifter_ for eight years." Saying this aloud makes her laugh.

"Seriously, how did  _anyone_ believe that?"

"Shh, keep your voice down!" Malia hisses, but she's laughing too. "I dunno. I told 'em I lived with some homeless people that took care of me until I was, like, fourteen and that I forgot everything from there and it was all a blur."

"Sounds valid to me. Gosh, the police here suck ass," Allison sighs out. "But they probably wouldn't believed what actually happened away," she whispers, careful that no one hears her.

"Probably," she agrees. Her phone shortly buzzes and it's a call from her father. She groans, because she does  _not_ want to hear him shout at her about his worry or her lack of responsibility, but she knows not to ignore his call, so she reluctantly answers. "Hello, dad?" She winces, expecting his booming voice, so she's shocked when he speaks calmly and quietly.

"Please come home now, Malia."

"Okay," she says and he hangs up. "I - I have to go now."

Allison frowns, but she doesn't complain. "Good thing we finished everything, then," she says. "Is he upset?"

"I think so."

"I'm sorry if I got you in trouble."

"I make my own decisions, and coming here with you was one of them." 

Allison opens her mouth to rebuttal, but Malia doesn't allow it, pressing her finger against Allison's lips. "I'll be there by 9 tomorrow, okay? Just to be early. I'll see you then. I had a lot of fun today. Let's hangout next weekend, if that's okay." Malia leaves quickly, after realizing how  _weird_ it was to just put her finger on Allison's lips like that. She feels a burst of wind sweep past her, and it feels nice. 

For the first time in a while, she feels pretty damn good.

* * *

 

She forces herself to rap hard on her front door, grimacing when she locks her eyes with her father. He opens the door, and she walks in. "Just get it over with, dad."

Her father's eyebrows furrow, and he lets out a terse sigh. "You could've  _called,_ or  _texted_ \- why didn't you say anything? Why didn't it phase you to tell me you were going out?" 

Her face feels hot and she doesn't like this confrontation. "I thought I'd be home before you were."

"Do you have any idea how horrifying it was to come home and see that you were gone?" 

She knows it's a rhetoric question, but the look he's giving her screams at her to answer. So she does. "You were worried, you freaked out."

"You scared me. Your lack of care, you not bothering to leave me a note, a text or something is upsetting, Malia! I went through hell for the past eight years and seeing you gone, seeing you not home - it just, it felt like the day I lost you, okay?" He chokes up.

Henry Tate isn't much of an emotional person. He's stoic, with great effort, and rarely cracks a grin or a frown, so seeing him tear up leaves Malia with the impression that this isn't something either of them just can brush over. So, she steps forward and just quietly wraps her arms around him. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again. Don't get mad." It's your standard apology, but it's genuine and earnest, even if it is a carbon copy of every apology in human history.

Her father doesn't say anything for a while, a hand caressing her hair gently. "It's okay," he says softly. "Did you eat yet?"

"Yes. Allison Argent and I went out and got something to eat. I have some homework to do, if you don't mind ..." Awkwardly, she lets go of him and he lets go of her. 

Henry Tate isn't an emotional person, Malia thinks again. He's never really opened up to her, and doesn't really talk to her about feelings and has never talked about her mother or sister after she returned home. He's detached, with terrible communication skills. She thinks of his many threats to send her back to Eichen House, and really, Malia should hate him. He's never hit or her anything, but he isn't a good father, truth be told. Malia hasn't even heard him utter her sister or mother's name. It seems like he's forgotten about them, which obviously he hasn't, but Malia doesn't like how he doesn't ever mention them.

She knows it's painful.

 _Obviously_ she knows.

But he's the only person who knows what it was like to lose them. She hates him, for never taking care of her properly, for never giving her that space to grieve and expecting her to adapt to life the second she got him. But she can't really get herself to hate him. She can't. He's all she's got left, and sure, that isn't a justification of his behavior and his slight shittiness as a father, but still. It'd just be nice for her to be able to freely speak about them to him. But the topic will overcome him with grief and she can't do that. She doesn't like that at seventeen, she's grown so much. She hates it, and sometimes, she hates him. But she's an understanding person, and she needs him right now. She has her adulthood, when she doesn't have to depend on him to support her, to be bitter. But now, she just has to live with it.

"After they died, I know you were scared. I know you had hope and it left. I should've been more sensitive and should've let you know where I was. There's only so much hope a person can have after they lose everything, and I can only push your optimism so much," she says quietly, before running up the stairs and into her slightly cramped, small bedroom.

One day, she will sob to him about her mother and sister and she will get that damned discussion she's been waiting for.

That day is not today.

She can hear him start to cry gently downstairs, so she puts her headphones over her ears and blares the loudest song she is. She doesn't want to listen to cry, considering the fact she's already caused him too much pain and being forced to hear another result of the terrible, monstrous thing she'd done isn't something she wants to do.

* * *

 

She wakes up the next morning on the floor. She must have fallen over in her sleep. This wouldn't be the first time she's woken up on the floor, but her back hurts and she groans. Already, her day sucks. There's a grim, hollow feeling of dread but serenity bubbling her chest as she forces herself to get up and go to the washroom. It's 8 am, and she has no where else to be, so she might as well go to Allison's house earlier than she said earlier.

She calls her dad, but it goes to voicemail. "Hey dad? I'm going to Allison's for the funeral, okay? I should be home by 2. Text me if you need anything. I, uh, love you." 

She walks to Allison's house since she can't really drive and doesn't want to ask for a lift. She thinks of Chris Argent, and shit, she doesn't want to see him, so she calls Allison.

"Malia?" She answers groggily, like she's exhausted. "What's up?"

"I'm kinda at your house right now. Mind opening the door?" She realizes it probably would've been a good idea to text her before coming, but it's too late for that now, Malia thinks. "Something wrong?" She asks when there's a long pause.

"Yeah, uh, no, I'm good. Just - just give me a second."

The call ends, and the door soon flings open and she sees Allison, hair in clumps and knots, looking sickly pale and annoyed, but she smiles when her eye lock on Malia's. "Come in," she murmurs, the bags in her eyes painfully visible. "Lydia'll be here in a half hour," she says suddenly.

"O-kay," Malia says slowly, stepping into the Argent home. It's large, larger than she expected. The Argent family has a lot of money and wealth, so she shouldn't be that surprised, but she is in awe. "Nice place," Malia says under her breath, as she slips her hands into her pockets.

"Come upstairs to my room. I'm gonna shower, so you can hang for a bit," Allison says, not in the mood for small talk apparently. She walks up the stairs, expecting Malia to follow, and leads her to a fairly large, well-lit room. There's a bed, with dark purple sheets, a desk in the corner and other things that Malia doesn't really pay attention to. 

She sits on Allison's bed, swinging her feet merrily. 

"I'll be back in five minutes," Allison says.

Malia can hear Allison sing softly a short minute later, and she has a nice, scratchy voice. She doesn't recognize the song, but it's beautiful and she wants to be serenaded with it. She hears the water stop, and sighs, because Allison stops singing and comes back into the room in nothing but a towel, her skin and hair wet.

"You can shower, if you want," Allison says carelessly, like it doesn't really matter that she's in a towel.

Malia doesn't care about privacy; she doesn't think it's a big deal when people change in front of people. But something about Allison in a towel makes her nervous, so she leaps up at the option to shower. Allison doesn't seem to understand her eagerness to leave the room and let Allison change in privacy, but she doesn't question it.

When Malia reaches the shower, she stares blankly, because she has no idea how to turn the thing on. She wants to call out to Allison, but she doesn't want to seem like she's hopeless and can't do anything for herself, so she just plays around with the nobs until it pays off and scalding hot water starts to stream.

The water hits her skin and she groans. It sort of hurts, but mainly, it feels good against her skin, and she feels at peace. She doesn't feel warm, though, and that annoys her because how long will it take before she finally feels warm? Before normal, human things come back to her? She forces that train of thought to stop, as she squirts shampoo into her hand and rubs it into her hair. She feels dizzy once she steps out of the shower, and wants to lie down, but doesn't. "ALLISON," she calls out, feeling droplets of water drip from her hair down to her back. "WHERE ARE YOUR TOWELS?" She's screaming at this point, and she's sure it's annoying, but she doesn't want to repeat herself.

"There should be a cabinet full of towels you can use by the sink," Allison says loudly, not making much of an effort to be needed, since Malia could hear her anyway.

There are literally five cabinets by the sinks, and it's the last one that's filled with towels. She grabs one and wraps it around her body, shutting the cabinet door with her foot. She stares at herself in the mirror, noticing how red her skin is. There's a lifeless look in her eyes she can't help but observe, so she looks away and heads back to Allison's room.

"I'm coming in," she announces, before swinging the door open.

Allison turns around. She's brushing her hair, wearing a long, black dress that fits her well. "Let me finish and I'll get to you. Dry your hair, Malia," she says placidly. "And close the door."

"Okay," Malia says as lifelessly as the look in her eyes, and kicks the door shut. She eyes a hairdryer and scrambles to find an outlet, until spotting one  by her desk. She sits in the chair as she idly blows her hair. It's a boring, tedious thing to do when all she really wants to do is talk to Allison and her friends. She has to be there for them, she knows this, but would they even want her comfort? She's never been good with helping people emotionally speaking. She thinks of her attempts to calm Stiles down and make him feel better after they killed the Nogitsune, but nothing really does it. She just holds him when he has his number of panic attacks, feeling useless and knowing Stiles wishes she was more helpful.

She can't even help him. How is she supposed to help everyone else?

She can't even help herself.

She turns the hairdryer off when thinking becomes too much for her and she dwells too much on herself and how unhelpful she is, earning a scowl from Allison. "You need to keep going," she huffs, setting her hairbrush down. "I'll do it for you."

She sounds like an impatient mother, Malia thinks, which bothers her. "I can do it myself. My arm just got tired."

"It's fine," she says, and it doesn't sound fine, but Malia doesn't complain.

It takes three minutes for Malia's hair to completely dry. "I'll brush your hair." Allison doesn't really give her a choice.

 _You're treating me like a child,_ Malia wants to hiss, but she doesn't. She won't make things more difficult than they already are. "Okay." 

"Your hair is soft," she murmurs, as she brushes slowly and softly.

This reminds her of her childhood, when Malia's mother would have to hold her daughter down to comb her hair thoroughly and when she was able to, it was never soft. It hurt like hell, the way the comb dug into her head and Malia would scream so loudly, especially when she yanked the comb through her knots, that her younger sister would try and drag her mother away. She hated having her mother comb her hair. 

Allison doesn't comb like her mother.

"My mom used to comb my hair," Malia says, and Allison probably doesn't care, but she doesn't act like it.

"Oh?" She says, like she's actually interested and cares. "My mom never combed mine. My dad always did. He was gentle and soft, nothing like her."

Malia snorts, because she can imagine Chris Argent shooting werewolves at night, then returning home to comb Allison's hair gently and this thought amuses her for some strange reason. "Your dad, gentle? I don't believe it," she says jokingly.

Allison snickers, as she runs her fingers through Malia's hair. "Shocking right?" She pauses, brushing another strand of hair. "I'm pretty much done with your hair. Do you want anything special, or is this fine?"

"It's fine. I don't - I don't really have anything to wear," she says stupidly.  _Why did you come here with no clothes?_

Allison pulls something out of her dresser. In her hand, she holds a black blouse and black skirt. "Would this be okay? Lydia told me you hated dresses."

"It's perfect."

"Do you want me to leave or-"

"No, you can stay," Malia says, pulling her shirt off.

Allison's eyes widen, mouth sort of agape, before she turns her back to Malia. "Okay," she says, voice cracking.

This makes Malia pleased, as she slips out of her sweatpants. She tugs the skirt up her long legs, and puts the blouse on. "How do I look?" She asks, letting Allison know she's done changing. 

There's a nervous, soft smile spreading across Allison's mouth and she goes closer to Malia, flattening the hem of her skirt. "You look beautiful," she compliments, her smile widening to a grin. "Very beautiful," she praises. "I'm sure Stiles will like it."

"I don't think he'll be too concerned with my dress." She doesn't care if Stiles likes it or not. She knows Allison's comment is out of good nature and was said to make her feel good, but it doesn't really work. Stiles doesn't notice the small things, like whether her hair is in a pony tail or down. It doesn't phase her for the most part,  but she wished he noticed more things and just paid more attention to her. "You look good," she stutters, finding that it'd be impolite not to compliment her back.

"Not as good as you," Allison says airily, but she blushes, sounding like she appreciates it. "It's uh, 9:30. We can hang here for a bit, maybe? Leave in ten minutes, if that's okay with you?"

Malia doesn't think it matters if they're early or not, but she nods, plopping down onto Allison's bed. "We can go in ten minutes," she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was kind of long, and I sort of jammed a lot there in one chapter. I really wished Malia's relationship with her adoptive father was explored more, in the show, but mainly in other fics. I'll definitely explore that in this fic!  
> I'll include Isaac's funeral in the next chapter, and I'm giving y'all a pre-warning: it gets sad.  
> This chapter was fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed reading it.  
> Please comment below and tell me what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

Malia literally recognizes no one at the funeral except for her friends. Lydia, Allison, Scott, Stiles, Kira, Erica and Boyd stand in the front, right near the coffin and it's visible that they're the most distraught here. She mostly zones out, finding her gaze drift from person to person. Derek and Cora eventually slip in halfway through and they stand near her, toward the back of the group.They don't say hi (not like she blames them) until the funeral is pretty much over. They're not even saying anything, not really. Cora just wraps her arms around her and squeezes. Derek awkwardly pats her shoulder, forcing a smile.

"You didn't tell me you were back in town," Malia says quietly. "How's Braeden?" Derek's been gone for a few weeks, since before the whole Nogitsune ordeal with his girlfriend Braeden, taking Cora with him. She misses them terribly.

Derek shrugs. "Yeah, well, I just came in today. I'm spending the week. We should, uh, hang out. You, Cora and I," he clarifies. 

She lets out a breath of relief. Derek hates his uncle, Peter, and it wouldn't make sense for him to even mention the idea of spending time with him, but still. She has no idea where Peter is, and wants to ask either of her cousins about him, but refrains. "I'd love that. Tuesday after school would be okay."

Derek nods. "Okay."

"Don't be a stranger," Cora says, before walking over to Boyd and Erica. They start to cry and hug each other, so Malia looks away, because she doesn't want to be invasive and disrespect them in their time of mourning. 

"How's your dad doing?"

"He's ... him. Distant, emotionless ... same as always," she says nonchalantly.

"I'm here if you need to talk, y'know," Derek murmurs, looking sincere.

Malia doesn't really know what to say next, so she awkwardly pulls him into a hug. "Go be there for your friends," she says. "I'm here for you, too."

Derek nods, before he goes up to Erica and Boyd, greeting them like old family. She hopes that one day, she can be close to him and not feel under obligation to speak to him. She cares about him, really, but it's awkward and weird. She hopes it'll pass over soon. She wants to be close to Derek. It's easier with Cora since they're around the same age, and equally as bitter. There's a relationship there, slowly in the works. Derek's trickier, though, but she can't really blame him for being so sheltered, considering what's happened.

She eyes her friends out of concern - no one is left tear-less. They're all crying, in different extremes. Stiles lets out the occasional tear, but he doesn't really say much, which is unlike him. Scott is eerily quiet, too, and he's trying his best to hold back tears, but he can't control it. Lydia and Kira are sobbing, overcome with tears, tissues in each of their hands as they dab their cheeks away. Erica and Boyd cry quietly. Allison has streams of tears flowing freely down her cheeks, but she doesn't say a word or make a noise.

It hurts to see her friends like that, but she wants to let them mourn in peace and does't want to interfere, knowing she'll make things worse than they already are.

The sun is brightly beaming, and Malia thinks grumpily how the weather is too nice for a day like this. The world should be in black and white. It shouldn't be as happy as it looks. The sun shouldn't be shining, not today, not when Isaac Lahey's dead.

* * *

As one big group, they all go to a small restaurant two hours after the funeral. Even though they take up the biggest booth, they still have to squeeze everyone in, and there is absolutely  _no room._

Malia's in between Allison and Stiles, who keeps complaining about the lack of space. "You're elbowing me, Malia-" he whines.

"You're annoying me, Stiles," she hisses.

In order, Lydia, Scott, Stiles, Malia and Allison are on one side, and Derek, Erica, Boyd, Cora, and Kira are on the other.

There's silence, which really bothers Malia. Why is it so damn quiet? "The weather's nice," she blurts out, because it's been too long since anyone's said anything.

"No shit," Erica huffs, resting her elbows on the table with a  _clang._ "You have eyes. You used them. Congrats."

"Play nice, Erica." Boyd looks annoyed and embarrassed, cheeks reddening. "Don't be rude."

Scott nervously twitches, like he's worried a fight's about to occur, which annoys Malia. Does no one have any faith in her? Malia has  _some_ control.

"It's fine," Malia insists. "I like em feisty," she says playfully, shooting Erica a wink.

Erica's mouth cracks into a grin, and she blows Malia a kiss.

"Are you flirting with my girlfriend?" Boyd says accusingly, but jokingly. He looks exhausted, Malia notices, and she wonders if he got any sleep last night. Then she realizes they all look exhausted, with painfully visible bags ranging in sides underneath all their eyes and obviously, no one caught a wink of sleep except for Malia. Allison and Scott look the worst, like they haven't slept for weeks and it wouldn't surprise Malia if that were the case.

"Can you blame her?" Erica says. "I mean - look at me."

"Cocky much?" Cora rolls her eyes. "You're a six out of ten at  _best._ "

"The  _fuck_ did you just say?" 

"C'mon, Erica's  _totally_ a nine out of ten," Kira says, blushing when nearly everyone's eyes fall on her. "What? Have you seen Erica? She's the hottest werewolf I've ever seen."

"I'm sorry, are you  _not_ dating Scott McCall?" Stiles says, sounding offended. "You've seen Scott shirtless, haven't you?"

Kira's brows furrow, and she shoots Stiles a strange look. " ... Have you?"

The pack bursts into conversation, debating Erica's hotness, until they're all comparing each other and Malia's glad she started the buzz of conversation. Their foods comes shortly, putting a halt on their debate of their hotness.

Malia's positive she's drooling, because Kira leans over and tips her chin up. "Are you that hungry?" She quips playfully.

"Absolutely."

Derek, Boyd, Lydia and Stiles plates come first, leaving Malia extremely jealous. "You have a zillion french fries, Derek,  _share,_ " Malia huffs.

"Wait for your own damn food," he grunts in response, plucking a fry into his mouth and Malia's sure he does it just to piss her off.

"You're such an ass, Derek," Cora says, stealing a fry off his plate and shoving it into her mouth. "He's never shared his food. I don't think he even knows what the word share means."

They all laugh.

"You want some?" Boyd asks, glancing at Scott. "You've been staring at my plate for the past ninety seconds, so."

Scott shakes his head politely. "'M just really hungry, that's all."

Boyd tries shoving a fork with some of his salad into Scott's mouth, lunging over the table. Stiles attempts to hold Scott down and Scott clamps his mouth shut in refusal.

"You're too damn nice," Boyd huffs, reluctantly giving up as he slips back into his seat.

Scott grins. "You're welcome."

"That's Scott McCall, for you," Lydia murmurs, slurping a spoonful of wonton soup into her mouth.

Malia refrains from smirking, twirling her fork into her plate of noodles. "Damn this tastes good," she rasps once she swallows a mouthful, groaning.

Eventually, the rest of the plates come and everyone's buzzing in conversation, which makes Malia happy. They're all exhausted, mourning and in grief, and she's relieved that even if it's just for an hour, they can be ... happy. As happy as they can be, at least. She nudges Allison. "Try some."

"It's fine," Allison says dismissively.

Malia frowns. "You've been quiet all day. Are you okay?" Once she's said it, she realizes how stupid the question is.  _Of course_ she isn't okay. "I'm sorry," she starts to ramble, "I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay, Malia," Allison interjects. "I'm as good as it gets."

"You look like shit," Malia says, sipping her glass of Coke. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Nope," she says nonchalantly, chewing on a piece of chicken. "I couldn't sleep. I just couldn't. Is it that obvious?"

"Yup."

"Uh, we should probably go," Derek says suddenly, rising from his seat with Cora shortly following. "I'm stuffed, but the buffet at the place we're staying at has their good shit come in soon and I'll be damned if the old couple next to our room gets all the shrimp again."

Cora laughs airily, a shine in her eyes that Malia's never seen before. "We'll call and definitely make plans later."

They all hug and laugh and smile and talk about making plans again, stuff that Malia pretty much ignores. She manages to squeeze past her friends to give Cora and Derek a hug, relishing their warmth. "We'll make plans before you guys go, right?"

"Right," Derek and Cora say in union before heading off.

Malia would prefer the seat on the edge, but she likes sitting next to Allison, so she squeezes in between Stiles and Allison again. It's awkward, sitting next to Stiles. He hasn't made an attempt to apologize, something that annoys Malia, but she won't hold it against him. "Can I try some?" She asks, gesturing to the burger sitting on his plate.

"You're - you're gonna take a bite?" He clarifies slowly.

"What else would I do?" She says, rolling her eyes.  _Stop treating me like a child,_ she thinks.  _I'm not stupid, I'm not an idiot. I know what the fuck I'm saying!_

"Go 'head."

She takes a small bite, scowling and spitting it out on his plate. "Ew, ew, ew, that shit is nasty."

"Excuse me? What did you just say?"

"Forgive him," Lydia says, tearing her gaze away from Scott to look at Malia. "He doesn't understand the concept of opinions that differ from his."

Malia smirks, because boy, is that the truth. "It tastes terrible," she says factually.

"No, it doesn't."

" _Yes,_ it does!" She snaps back heatedly.

"God, would you two make out already?"

Malia glares at Allison, because wow, is that no helping! She finds that everyone's pretty much staring at Allison who shrugs them off. "What?" Allison says defensively. "You were all thinking it!"

"Doesn't mean we'd say it aloud," Boyd says quietly.

Erica snickers.

They resume talking, Malia swearing that the room temperature increases, because she feels hot and she's sure her cheeks are red.

"Are you still mad at me?" Stiles blurts out randomly.

"Yes," Malia says.

"I'm sorry, you know."

"I know. It's okay. I'm not - I'm not as mad as before," she says quickly. "I've missed talking to you," she admits.

"You too."

"Seriously, just make out," Kira says under her breath, but Malia catches it, scowling at her friend. 

"Shut up, Kira."

Stiles, Scott, and Lydia immerse themselves into their own conversation about something Malia doesn't know and Erica, Boyd and Kira talk about the Chemistry class they're taking this semester together, so she turns her attention to Allison. 

"You smell anxious." Allison's leg is shaking, so Malia presses her hand to steady it. "What's wrong?"

"A lot," Allison says, looking relieved when Malia leans against her. "A lot is wrong."

They all leave at around eleven, and Malia  _knows_ her dad's going to be pissed she's coming home so late, especially on a school night, but she doesn't really give a damn. He'll make an exception today. He  _has_ to make an exception today. She's sitting in the front seat of Allison's car, as Allison starts it.

"Today's been a hard day."

"Yes it has, Malia."

"He loved you, you know," Malia says.

Allison doesn't say anything. For a second, Malia thinks she's crying, but she soon responds. "I loved him, too."

"Are you okay?" There's an earnest look in Malia's eyes, because she's trying her best to be a friend, to be helpful.

The question seems to faze Allison, because she pauses for a really long time. "I will be."

Malia doesn't really know how to reply to that, so she just hooks her arm around Allison as she quietly hums to the radio, driving Malia home.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The last thing Allison wants to do is get out of bed. It's a damn miracle she slept last night, instantly falling asleep when she snuggled underneath her covers. She hadn't had a good nights rest in a while, not since Malia had cuddled with her to sleep, and even that was only for a few hours. Allison slept for a solid eight hours and that was short of an accomplishment to her.

She wants to spend the day in bed, not go out to school and probably fall asleep in class. She doesn't want to see or talk to anyone, not today, not for a while. She knows her dad, Chris, would let her stay home if she wanted to. He'd understand, of  _course_ he'd understand, but she had to go. She just had to. She can't really explain why she feels so obligated to go. It's not like she loves going to school or anything. She doesn't hate it, sure, but she's always been neutral when it came to school. 

To her, staying home would prove she was weak. That she couldn't handle it, the stress of supernatural drama, of losing Isaac, of school, of pretty much everything. She could handle it, and dammit, she _is_ handling it. 

So, she trudges out of bed, even if her legs ache and her body desperately wants to be back underneath those covers. Even on her darkest days, Allison Argent will force herself out of bed no matter what. She makes her way to the washroom where she brushes her teeth and takes a brief shower. She's fully awake by the time her dad thrusts her a cup of coffee and presses his lips gently against her forehead.

"Morning, sweetheart," he says.

She can smell his cologne and the whiskey on his breath. She wants to ask if he drank last night - who knows, maybe he's in mourning too, but she doesn't bother. "Morning, dad," she replies automatically, sipping from the mug in her shaking hands. 

"You need a ride to school today?"

"No, Lydia's picking me up," she says monotonous. 

"Are you sure you want to go today?" He asks, and Allison swears she detects concern in his voice.

"I'm sure, dad." She's up the stairs and in her room before her dad can bombard her with questions on how she's doing, the funeral or anything, really. She doesn't want to talk to him. His attempts at understanding, at connecting are out of sheer concern for her well-being  but he  _doesn't get it._ She doesn't want to talk about it, about Isaac, about nearly dying, about  _any of it_ and she knows it's unhealthy, she knows she needs to get her feelings out and she just  _can't._ Who's to blame for that, she thinks bitterly. It's not like he's aware of this either, of how emotionally-fucked up she is (because of him, because of Gerard, because of her family, because of her _hunter family)_ , but it doesn't matter, not really. She'll just keep it inside, conceal it, like she usually does. 

She's been doing a pretty good job of hiding it lately, and he hasn't noticed before - why would he notice now, anyway? Again - it doesn't matter.

She's used to hiding her feelings, especially from her father.

Lydia texts her in fifteen minutes, telling her she's in front of her house, and she manages to slip out of the house without a single word exchanged between her and her father. She forces a grin when she enters Lydia's car, letting out a sigh of relief. "Hey," she greets.

"Hey," Lydia says absentmindedly, looking distracted. "Did you sleep well last night?" The car starts to move, Lydia's calculated gaze set on the road.

Allison wants to question the attempt at small talk, because this is  _so_ unlike her, but she doesn't. "Yeah, actually. Best I've slept in a while," she admits. "What about you?" She rolls the window down, and Lydia surprisingly doesn't complain about it and how it'll mess her hair up, and  _fuck,_ it feels good to have the wind burst past her hair. It feels freeing. 

"I've had better nights," Lydia says vaguely.

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

Lydia pauses, like the question takes her off guard and she was unprepared for it, pursing her lips. "Not now."

"Okay," Allison says. She's not going to pressure Lydia into talking or force some emotional confrontation, even if she's worried or concerned about Lydia and all her friends and has no idea what to do to help. She wants Lydia to know that she's here, always, and she'll always be ready to talk if needed. Lydia knows this, obviously, but she could use a reminder. 

"I'm always here for you, Lydia," Allison says in a small voice, and she's shocked but pleased to see Lydia softly smiling.

"I know, Allison, I know," Lydia says. "I'm always here for you too, you know - hasn't exactly been your hottest week."

There's a bitter, snort of laughter that rises out of Allison's throat and when it leaves her, she cannot believe she's produced such a disgruntled noise, but there it is. So she laughs again, because something about this is funny to her, even though she can't really put her finger on it. "Tell me about it," she says.

Lydia looks mildly concerned at the Allison's bark of laughter, but she doesn't voice her concerns, settling on a meek smile. She pulls up into the parking spot, and when she parks, Allison literally whines. "Do we  _have_ to go inside?" She groans. "I'll gladly sleep here for the next six hours."

"You're coming whether you like it or not, Allison," Lydia says sternly, vaguely reminding Allison of her mother as she rolls her eyes. But Allison reluctantly gets up, shutting the car door behind her as she heads off to first period.

* * *

Predictably, the day passes by slowly and seconds are like minutes and the minutes are like hours. Lydia's leaning against Allison's locker after the bell rings, and Allison just smiles. "You ready to talk?" 

"You know me  _so_ well," Lydia says with a slight smile. It's a broken, weary kind of smile, and she doesn't look happy at all. She just looks  _tired._

Lydia drives Allison and herself to her house, and the car ride is quiet. Allison doesn't like the silence, so she turns on the radio and blares the music, a little surprised at the lack of complaint from Lydia. Allison  _loves_ the music up to the max volume, but Lydia prefers to keep it at a low volume-so of course, Lydia's silence is a little unsettling and kind of worrying. 

Allison wants to ask if she's okay, but she of all people knows that's a stupid question and that they'll never be  _okay_ again. How could they? 

Most of her dreams these days consist of replays of her getting stabbed, over and over again. She can feel her body giving up all over again, the blood spewing from her mouth, and the life draining out of her. It's vivid and sometimes, she forgets it's a dream. Sometimes she thinks she's actually dying. 

But she wakes up.

Goes to school.

Comes home.

Goes to bed.

And repeat.

If only she'd have dreamless nights, maybe things would be easier.

"Are you coming or do you plan on staying in my car?" Lydia's sharp voice pulls Allison out of her train of thought, and her eyes widen a little.

"Oh, uh, sorry-yeah, 'm coming." She gets out of Lydia's car, leaving her backpack in the front seat. It's not like they're going to do homework, anyway. She follows Lydia up to her colossal bedroom, plopping down onto her bed with a sigh."Talk to me. Distract me from the  _shit storm_ that is my life right now." It kind of scares her how easily and casually she's talking about her life, about the disastrous state of her mind. Should she be able to talk with such ease? 

Is that healthy?

She doesn't know.

Or care.

Lydia smirks a little, trying to hide the amusement on her face but failing. "You think you're the only one with a shit storm in their lives?" She drops her backpack to the floor, sitting cross-legged next to Allison.

"I  _am_ the one that nearly died, you know. No one else in Beacon Hills can say that and mean it," she points out, craning her head to look at Lydia. "So it's pretty clear that I have the biggest shit storm right now."

"Congratulations, you win a fuck ton of nightmares," Lydia says dryly.

Allison laughs, a little too hard though, her cheeks aching a little. "Is it bad that I found that hilarious?"

Lydia smiles genuinely, not like the tired, broken smile she gave at Allison's locker-it's a smile of happiness, Allison can tell. "No, not at all." She pauses, like she isn't sure of what she's going to say next. "Do you want to talk?"

She stiffens, shaking her head. "Not yet, no. Do  _you_ want to talk?" Subtly changing the topic to Lydia. Real smooth, Argent.

"What's there to even say? I'm a banshee and I  _failed._ I could've saved him, but I didn't. He's dead because of  _me._ " There's guilt and remorse in her voice, sounding extremely distraught, as the words come out in a rush. "I'm supposed to be able to save them, aren't I?" She asks in a quiet voice, lower lip wobbling.

It seems like she's been waiting to get this out, her emotions bursting out much like the tears swimming down her face. Allison feels her heart lurch and she leans over to gently squeeze Lydia's hand reassuringly.

"Stop. It's  _not_ your fault. You just found out you're a banshee. How are you supposed to control it so quickly? It's not like werewolves - it isn't as simpe. Stop beating yourself up over this! You didn't kill him. Okay? Stop blaming yourself,  _please._ The only person's fault this is, is the Oni that killed him," Allison says sharply, voice thick and firm with certainty. She locks eyes with Lydia, and can see slight fear in her eyes at the raise of her voice. But she keeps going. "You did nothing wrong. Do  _not_ blame yourself because you're still figuring out your powers, okay? Please ... just don't," she says, much softer this time.

Lydia looks like she's about to cry and she does, hot tears quietly streaming down her face. Allison, playing the role of the best friend with ease, just leans over and pulls her into a hug, petting her hair in an attempt at reassurance. "You'll learn, okay? You'll learn how to be a banshee. Just give it time. With this life we live ..." She pauses, taking a deep breath in to gather her thoughts. "With this life we live, we're going to lose people. Sometimes, we can save them. Sometimes ... sometimes we can't. It's going to happen and all we can do is be there for each other when it does."

Allison realizes she was rambling, but Lydia doesn't seem to mind, she just inches closer and wraps an arm around Allison's back. They both sit there like that for a few minutes, and eventually, Allison silently starts to cry. They both cry all the sadness and grief locked in for the past week until it's all out. Lydia sniffs loudly, signalling that she's done and Allison pulls away.

"It's not your fault too, you know," Lydia quietly says, flattening the edges of her skirt once she's sitting across from Allison on the bed. "You  didn't have to say anything for me to notice that you feel guilty, guilty that you're standing here and Isaac isn't," she says softly.

It's funny how best friends work - Lydia seems to have the ability to read Allison's mind, when Allison didn't even know of this, but it clicks in her head once she realizes it. She  _does_ feel guilty, she does feel bad and she shouldn't be the one here - Isaac should. 

"He didn't deserve it," Allison says. "I just ... it's unfair that I made it out of there, but he didn't," she explains as simply as possible, shrugging. "I can't stop feeling like that, you know? Can't stop feeling like my surviving was luck and that if things had went slightly different ... I could be dead, and he would be here."

"Or you'd both be dead," Lydia says. "You deserve to be here. It's unfair that Isaac died, it's unfair that he was killed, I know that, but that doesn't change the fact that you made it out. That you didn't die. And that we're so thankful to have you here. If ... if both of you had died, I don't know what we would've done. Losing him was hard, but losing the both of you? It would've been the kind of pain and brief that was unbearable," she admits tearfully, rubbing her eyes. "But thankfully, we won't have to know what that'd be like."

Even with the red, puffy eyes from crying, Lydia still has the energy to muster up a smile, one that Allison warily returns.

"Thank you, Lydia, I - I really needed that," Allison murmurs, gratitude etched in her voice.

Lydia just gives her a knowing look. "What're best friends for?"

Silence takes shift of the room, and Allison realizes that their emotional fest is finished. There's nothing left for either of them to say, they've gotten it all out in the air, so Allison suggests an idea that she's sure Lydia will love. "Rom-com marathon?"

Lydia's mouth predictably breaks into a grin. "Rom-com marathon," she confirms, standing up off the bed. "I've got popcorn downstairs. And chocolate. It'll be a good night."

Allison watches Lydia scurry down the long steps of the stairway into the kitchen for foods, feeling better than she had when she first walked into the Martin household. Surprisingly, she actually believes what Lydia had told her - she had a feeling it  _would_ be a good night.

Her phone suddenly beeps, and it startles Allison. She pulls her phone out from her back pocket and sees her phone turned on from a notification from Malia. She involuntarily smiles at the sight of a follow request from Malia on Instagram. She opens the app up and immediately requests, before opening up her texting app to send a message to Malia.

 _You've finaaaaally gotten an instagram, huh?_ Allison begins to type.  _Took you long enough._

There's a swish noise once Allison presses the send button, alerting her the message has been received. Allison can hear Lydia talking to her mother, clearly sounding annoyed, and is glad when a text soon pops up to distract her. Ms Martin had been worried for Lydia since she witnessed Isaac's death and Allison's stabbing, and was acting over protective, according to Lydia. She was most likely interrogating her daughter about what her and Allison were doing and Lydia was mostly likely responding in a clipped tone with some remark. 

It's how things currently were with Lydia and her mom, and although Allison wished she could do something to ease the rift that was there, she couldn't. Lydia's mom was still clueless to the supernatural world, and of course, thought that the sight of her friend dying and another nearly dying was the most traumatic thing she'd witnessed, when Allison knew for a fact that Lydia now say traumatizing things on a basis. Lydia was annoyed, feeling as though her mom didn't trust her and thought she couldn't handle the emotional grieving to it.

So of course, Allison hears her complaining about it all the time.

Malia sends a series of texts in a row, making Allison's face light up. The aftermath of the funeral had been awkward, especially with her annoyance toward Stiles and Malia. Why was Malia pretending as if she didn't like him? They clearly liked each other, so what the hell where they doing and what did it matter if Allison said aloud what everyone else was thinking anyway?

It had clearly bothered Malia though, and Allison expected the girl to ignore or at least be cold for a little bit of time to her, but she didn't hold it against her, something Allison appreciated. 

[ **maliaaaaaaaaaa** ]

_i don't understand this app._

_do i just post pics?_

_that sounds boring_

Allison chuckles at that.

[ **me** ]

_Basically_

_It's not boring, I swear!!!!_

_You and I can take pictures together. That should be your first post._

Was that a risky thing to say? Soon after she sent the message, Allison starts feeling unsure of what she had texted.

[ **maliaaaaaaaaaa** ]

_take the picture, tho_

_i don't know how to take a picture of myself_

_i mean i do but lydia says im doing it wrong_

[ **me** ]

_I'll teach you how to._

[ **maliaaaaaaaaaa** ]

_good_

_so what the fuck is a bio??????????_

Feeling a snort of laughter rise in her throat, Lydia walks in, noticing the glee lighting up Allison's face. "Who're you texting?" She demands, plopping down next to Allison, looking over her shoulder to see the contact name.

Quickly, Allison lowers her phone, away from Lydia's prying gaze. "No one," she automatically replies.

Lydia raises her eyebrows. "That's such a lie! Are you seeing someone?"

" _What?_ " She blurts out, sounding harsher than she expected to. "No - I - it'd be too soon for me to date anyone. I'm texting Malia, okay? That's it," she says, rather defensively.

"Allison ..." Lydia starts, but soon shakes her head. "Okay. Whatever. It's just, you looked smitten, that's all. Didn't mean to make any assumptions."

"Okay," Allison responds. "Y'know, Malia got an Instagram account."

" _Finally._ Let me see?"

"She hasn't posted anything yet, her profile picture is of what I think is her wrist and she doesn't know what a bio is," Allison simply replies.

Lydia clearly looks strained. "Nevermind. We'll have to help her with that, won't we?"

"We will," she says, gaze falling to the large bowl filled with popcorn. She's hungry. Very, very hungry. "Pass it to me."

Lydia just secures her grip on the bowl, shaking her head. "Um,  _no._ We're going to finish the popcorn too early and the rest of the movie will just feel  _weird_ without it. No popcorn until the movie starts playing," Lydia says firmly, plucking her television remote from underneath the flat screen and sliding next to Allison.

She groans. "Fine, I'll wait for the damn movie." 

For some reason, the remote isn't working, so Lydia gets up to find a spare one in her cabinets, and when she isn't looking, Allison plops a piece of popcorn into her mouth, a devilish smile soon following.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry this took so long to update! I really do want to continue this fic, but updates might be sparse since the school year's finishing up and I still have a lot more to finish up, but I do promise that I'll continue. 
> 
> I don't know what this chapter is, if I'm being completely honest, I just wanted to see Allison and Lydia's friendship and them opening up to each other, since we didn't see much of them comforting each other over the mess their lives were in the show. And I also wanted Malia to make an Instagram account. (Are you thinking we might see Allison teach Malia how to use Instagram next chapter? Because that's what I'm thinking.)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! Comment below and tell me what you thought.


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